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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886381">Every Word Gets You A Step Closer To Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorLives/pseuds/TaylorLives'>TaylorLives</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bandom, Panic! at the Disco</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Anxiety, Bulimia, Cigarettes, Depression, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Happy Ending, Hearing Voices, M/M, PTSD, Paranoia, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sex Addiction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:48:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>48,389</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24886381</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaylorLives/pseuds/TaylorLives</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon is hospitalized for an eating disorder and is put with Ryan who hears voices as his roommate in Clover Fields Care Center for Young Men.<br/>**This is a revision of my previous story: "The scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor." It is NOT mandatory that you read that first**</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span> Brendon’s mom was overreacting. Well she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>overreacting but this was really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>overreacting. Brendon had run downstairs to a dinner he would pretend to eat when he collapsed at the end of the staircase, scaring his mother and siblings half to death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dizziness he felt when he hit the bottom step was more likely a side effect of the cigarettes he had been smoking out of his bedroom window only minutes before than from his lack of calorie intake but his mom wouldn’t hear it. And that's the story of how Brendon Urie got admitted to Clover Fields Care Center for Young Men. It was a program one of Mrs. Urie’s doctor friends had recommended after Brendon slit his wrists when he was 16. When he was 16 he was in an actual locked down psych ward for a week while he was on suicide watch. Clover Fields was different. Or at least that's what the nurse said when they began the tour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a more relaxed program for people who weren’t at immediate risk. It offered more freedom, like the main doors weren't locked and the doors to the rooms were solid without little windows for nurses to peak through. Since the program was for boys ages 18 to 25, there were even designated smoking areas, a realization that almost brought Brendon to tears. He could do weeks without his family and internet, but without nicotine? No way in hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building layout was fairly basic; it was almost laid out like a square, or more of a horseshoe. The two ends of the horseshoe were exits, rooms on the outer edges of the square, while the inside of the square was a garden space. At the base of the horseshoe was the front desk and a few meeting rooms, showers, and a cafeteria. The tour ended at Brendon’s room, 109 which was only one room away from the exit. His mother left rather quickly, with just a hug and kiss to the cheek, clearly happy to get out of there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s 9 o’clock now which means its room time until lights off at 10,” the nurse explained as she helped him bring his stuff to the room. He can't remember her name, it started with a ‘P’ or something. “You’ve been put with Ryan as a roommate. He’s a good kid,” she said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon just nodded, certainly hoping so, as the nurse knocked twice and opened the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” she called. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was simply set up; a twin bed with a dresser and a desk and chair next to it, mirrored on the other side of the room as well, though on the other bed sat a kid that looked like the lead member of a shitty Beatle cover band. He wore floral, flowy sleep pants, mismatched striped socks, and a faded Third Eye Blind shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid, or man rather, looked up at his name with a small smile. “Evening Priscilla,” he said, his voice slow and rather emotionless. He let the book he was holding open close on the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This Brendon, he’s going to be your new roommate. I trust you’ll make sure he’s comfortable?” she asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best,” The man smiled, picking at his nails anxiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you need anything, I’ll be at the nurses station, but Ryan can answer any questions you have in the meantime,” She explained. “You don’t take any evening meds, right Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great. Have a good night boys,” She said, shutting the door behind her when she left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence enveloped the two boys. Brendon awkwardly grabbed his bags, shoving his clothes into his dresser. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi.” Ryan said, breaking the silence. “I'm Ryan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” Brendon half muttered, keeping his head down as he shoved the remainder of his clothes into the bottom drawer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, uh, how old are you?” Ryan asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“18,” Brendon replied, not making eye contact as he put his limited toiletries on his dresser. “You?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be 20 in a couple months,” Ryan said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon knows how it goes with a new roommate. He’s been on both sides before; being the newcomer and being the veteran, trying to make the new feel welcome. He knew what kind of awkward acquainting questions Ryan was bound to ask him but it didn't stop him from feeling nervous anyways. “Cool,” He replied simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a few moments of silence as Brendon sat on his bed, back to the wall, facing Ryan. He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ever been in a program like this before?” Ryan asked, picking at the edge of his torn book cover. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Great Gatsby. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At least the boy had decent taste in literature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Brendon said. “I was in hospital once, two years ago but this seems a lot more lax,” he said with a short puff of a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ryan said, smiling back. “Its nice being in a place that doesn't have cameras every two feet.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, looking around at the camera-less corners of the white room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another few moments of silence, then “So uh, what brings you here, if you don't mind me asking,” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that was coming. He tightened his grip around his bent knees. “I uh, don't really know, everything my mom says goes in one ear and out the other right now,” Brendon deflected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older boy cringed, squeezing his eyes shut and fists tightly together. He made a strained noise and ran his hands through his hair, pulling, seemingly trying to calm down. Ryan corrected himself quickly, head flicking like he was trying to shake himself out of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ryan said sheepishly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Brendon said, not even sure of what just happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan moved his book to his dresser, lightly shaking his head again. “Hey, you mind if I shut off the light? My meds kinda knock me out,” he said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, go ahead,” Brendon said. He got under the covers of his bed. He was already in sweatpants and a sleep shirt. (His mom quite literally bringing him straight to Clover Fields after the Accident). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ryan said, flicking off the light and getting into his own bed. “Night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Night,” Brendon replied, shutting his eyes and waiting for sleep he knew wouldn't come. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Brendon rolled over for what must have been the billionth time. He could feel the cheap springs digging into his spine. He sighed, rolling onto his back, trying to evenly disperse his body weight like those people that lay on nails. A whimper from the boy across the room shook him from his thoughts. Ryan let out a low hiss, turning to bury his face in his pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled over again, facing Ryan. The older boy was breathing hard now, tightly fisting his sheets. He groaned something into his pillow that Brendon couldn’t make out. He shifted again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, No.” Ryan curled up. “Please,” he begged. “Stop, please, get away, stop!” he exclaimed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sat up. He should probably wake him up. He’d want to be woken if he were having a nightmare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He crept out of bed, hesitating before dropping a hand to his shoulder. “Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he protested, jerking his shoulder away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan,” Brendon tried again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he groaned, tugging at his hair hard enough that it looked like it hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon pulled the older boy’s hands from his hair. “Ryan!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s eyes shot open and he practically flew back against the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Brendon said, taking a step back. “You were just… it seemed like you were-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, thank you for waking me,” He said a little awkwardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shuffled back to the edge of his bed, sitting down. “You okay?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan hesitated. “Sometimes I just like, relive shit in my dreams y’know? Not fun stuff.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, waiting for him to continue but he didn't.  A shape underneath Ryan’s bed caught his eye instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that a guitar?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wha- oh,” Ryan leaned to look over the edge of his bed. “Yeah, do you play?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Brendon began. “And you do too, I assume.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not as much as I used to,” Ryan admitted. He pulled the acoustic out from under his bed, holding it out to Brendon. He took it tentatively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It hasn’t been tuned in a couple of months,” he said offhandedly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brendon strummed it a few times. He tuned the strings the best he could by ear. It sounded a little off, but it was good enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s eyes clenched shut as he let out a low growl, getting Brendon’s attention. His hands flew to his hair. “Fuck.” he said, voice cracking. “Can you keep talking? Sorry, I just, yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I play something instead?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that's fine.” Ryan nodded, eyes still shut tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon picked a few chords that he’d been playing with for the past few weeks. He could feel Ryan’s anxious energy starting to subside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two, Where summer's lasted longer than, Well longer than we do” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brendon sang quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s pretty, what is that?” Ryan interjected, now looking at him intensely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon smirked. “That’s interrupting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan blushed and mumbled something that could be a “sorry”. He sank into his pillows again, pulling the blankets up to his chin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>When nothing really mattered, Except for me to be with you. But in time we all forgotten</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He smiled to himself. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And we all grew,” </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan pulled one of his pillows under his arm, burying his face in it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not done with the lyrics yet,” He muttered, and began the next part of the song. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Your melody sounds as sweet, As the first time it was sung…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon looked over to Ryan to tell him he was all out of lyrics, but he was already fast asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let the chord ring out, smiling to himself again as he set the guitar down. When Brendon got back into bed, covers pulled up to his ears, he was surprised to feel sleep actually coming for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was woken up with someone shaking his shoulder. “Hey!” He exclaimed, recoiling and slapping the hand away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh-” Ryan gasped. “I- I’m sorry.” He said. “I forget that some people don't like to be touched.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon deflated at the other boy’s earnestness. “It’s okay,” he replied, rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to remember where he was. “What’s going on?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s time for breakfast,” Ryan said, wringing his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said. He could feel the emptiness in his stomach, the one that was always kinda there. “I think I’ll pass.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't have to eat.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon tried to hide his cringe at the word. Ryan didn't notice.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you do have to go. Participation is a big thing here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon just looked at him for a minute, deciding what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Ryan began suddenly. “-for playing for me last night, you have a beautiful voice.” He seemed to force the words out, his cheeks scarlet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. No problem.” Brendon said, ignoring the compliment. He’d surely be blushing too if he weren't so disoriented. Ryan smiled in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon cursed as his stomach made a sound. The last time he ate was two nights ago, and while he wished he could, he really couldn’t function without a little bit of food. He groaned, rolling out of bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” He decided. “Show me the way.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hallways of Clover Field were laid out almost like a square, the center of the square being a courtyard filled with flowers and trees and benches to sit on. The cafeteria along with the other common rooms branched off from the outer sides of the square, down by the front desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafeteria was a modest-sized room with those picnic bench style tables that Brendon remembered from middle school. There was a queue of people lined up with blue trays to get their breakfast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can sit with me if you want.” Ryan said, walking toward one of the smaller round tables that were situated at the edge of the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded along, following the older boy to the table. They sat at the back of it, facing the rest of the cafe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna get food, you wanna come?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m really alright.” Brendon said, looking down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could grab you something if you prefer,” Ryan offered, watching Brendon’s face for his reaction. He shook his head again. “Suit yourself.” Ryan said, getting up and getting into line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took the time to take in the other patients around him. It seemed rather calm for a program of this nature. A few boys of different ages were milling around tables and trashcans, laughing and talking to each other in hushed tones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brendon was snapped out of his thoughts as a boy with bright red hair approached his table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” The boy said in a high voice. “Who are you? Are you new?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m new-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi New, I’m Gerard!” He said with a grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon returned a polite smile at the joke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen Mikey? I can't find my Mikey.” Gerard said with a pout. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s brows came together. “Mikey? Who’s Mikey?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mikey Way! Mikeyway Mikeyway! He’s my little brother!” Gerard ran his hands through his hair a few times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan came up behind Gerard, a slight frown on his face. “Hey, Gee. Whatcha doing?” he asked in his monotone voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi Ryan!” Gerard exclaimed. “I was just asking- I was just asking…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” Brendon supplied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon! Right. I was just asking Brendon here if he’s seen Mikeyway, I can't find him anywhere!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you go find Frank, Gerard. He might know where Mikey is.” Ryan suggested. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frankie’s in lockup.” Gerard said with a devilish grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’d he do?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was cheeking his Percs again,” Gerard began. “Gathered 9 this time before the nurses caught on.” He said with a giggle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” One of the nurses called suddenly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard rolled his eyes before spinning around. “I’m comin’ Janis, don't get your panties in a twist.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan sat down while Brendon watched a nurse lead Gerard out of the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So that’s Gerard.” Ryan said, breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes it is.” Brendon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell of Ryan's eggs were doing conflicting things to Brendon’s stomach. It clenched in pain and simultaneously made him want to puke. Ryan took the orange off his tray and rolled it to Brendon wordlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brendon risked a glance at Ryan, but he was busy shoveling scrambled eggs onto a piece of toast. He reluctantly began peeling his orange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So where </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mikey?” Brendon asked, stacking the peels in a little pile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan grimaced a little, swallowing his mouthful. “Well his headstone’s in Jersey.” Ryan replied, taking a sip of orange juice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon asked. “Gerard was talking about him like-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Ryan said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sure do interrupt a lot, you know that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan chuckled, ignoring him. “Mikey Way died in a fire a little over a year ago now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon ate a wedge of his orange, waiting for Ryan to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The story goes that Gerard's dad used to beat the shit out of the two of them, but especially Mikey,” Ryan paused, shutting his eyes and shaking his head rather violently. “One night their dad beat Mikey so bloody that Gerard thought he was dead. He was devastated and absolutely furious with his father so he burned the fucking house down, killing both his parents.” Ryan let out a frustrated sigh, tugging on his hair again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.” Brendon said, at a loss for any real words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but here's the worst part: Gerard's dad didn't actually beat Mikey to death. Mikey Way’s official cause of death was asphyxiation. The smoke suffocated him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s jaw literally dropped. “And- and Gerard doesn't know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I think he knows. Somewhere in his brain at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know all this?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged, starting on his next piece of toast. “I mean, it's technically a rumor, it's not like the nurses can talk about it. I heard it from Frank. Him and Gee have the same therapist and I guess he saw a newspaper from the day it happened. ‘Family of three dies in freak accident’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shook his head, suddenly feeling sick. He pushed the remaining half of his orange away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Ryan began. “I'm sure it's common sense, but don't mention Mikey’s death to Gerard. Try not to bring it up at all if you can help it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course,” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan seemed to be in some kind of trance when he was telling Gerard's story. His voice was even flatter than usual, his eyes unfocused on the opposite wall, but he seemed to come back, turning to Brendon with a small smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning, boys!” A voice said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nurse that Gerard had been talking to dragged a laptop on a cart over toward Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Janis.” Ryan smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How'd you sleep last night?” She asked, clicking on a few things. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not the best, I'm afraid.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nightmares again?” She asked, typing quickly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan looked down and nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He can't hurt you anymore, Ry.” She said softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan's whole body tensed, his head cocking to one side. Brendon watched him force his eyes shut. His gazed flickered between Ryan and Janis. She sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Janis.” She said turning her attention to Brendon and holding a hand out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook it. “Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How was your first night, Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not too bad</span>
  <em>
    <span>.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> He replied honestly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> He couldn't help but look at Ryan as he took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan's eye caught his and he blushed, looking down at his eggs again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's good to hear,” Janis smiled. She typed something again. “You'll have your first appointment with Dr. Uma this morning. She'll come get you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janis set down a medicine cup with a few pills in it in front of Ryan. He took them in one gulp, washing them down with his orange juice. She jot down a few notes on her computer before leaving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After breakfast, we can go back and get changed, brush your teeth or whatever but then we have morning group.” Ryan said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning group?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just so you can meet everyone and hear what's going on for the day.” Ryan replied, picking up his tray. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon grabbed his orange peels and followed Ryan to the trash. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a quick walk back to their room. They passed Gerard who was sitting outside a door. A pale hand was sticking out from under the small gap. Gerard picked at the hand’s chipping black nail polish, whispering incoherently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan entered the room first, immediately pulling his shirt over his head. Brendon’s eyes dropped to the floor. He shuffled past Ryan, grabbing a change of clothes and heading into the attached bathroom, locking it behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could really even process what he was doing, Brendon turned on the sink and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, letting his clothes fall to the ground. He shoved his fingers down his throat, vomiting into the toilet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had only meant to eat one or two wedges of the orange but Ryan’s voice distracted him into eating almost</span>
  <em>
    <span> more than a full half. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He gagged one more time, cursing at the noise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay in there?” Ryan asked, knocking on the door a few times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s heart leapt into his throat. He flushed the toilet, stood up, and shut off the water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup!” Brendon called back weakly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn’t respond, but Brendon could hear him walking away. He let out a sigh and washed the stomach acid off his fingers. Brendon changed out of his pyjamas into a loose hoodie and some jeans before leaving the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, did I just come out of a time machine?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan sat on the bed in the craziest outfit Brendon has ever seen. He was wearing these paisley bell bottoms with a clashing patterned button down. The guitar had stickers of flowers on it, something that Brendon didn't notice in the dark last night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ryan asked innocently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I just walked into a 70’s sitcom.” Brendon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on,” Ryan protested. “You wish you had pants like these.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Brendon hummed, squinting at the other boy. “Y’know, I don't think I do.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry. I’ll let you borrow them sometime.” Ryan smirked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like they would ever fit me.” Brendon scoffed under his breath, looking down. He tossed his dirty clothes in the laundry basket at the end of his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but a moan came from the other side of Brendon’s wall, making them both freeze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan rolled his eyes. “For fucks sake.” He muttered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan crossed the room, leaned over Brendon’s bed and banged on the wall. “Weekes, get your fucking fingers out of your ass, it’s not even 10am!” He called through the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off, Ross!” Came a reply from the next room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon burst out laughing. “Has this happened before?” He gasped out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately.” Ryan laughed. “He’s so fucking loud.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop fucking talking about me!” Weekes called again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan just laughed harder, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This first morning group was in a fairly large conference room. Mismatched couches and armchairs lined the perimeter of the room, making a circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan sat with Brendon on a loveseat that was beginning to fall apart. There were already a few people in the room when the entered. A boy with a bright pink Mohawk was nodding along to a very young looking kid who seemed to be telling a story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard was sitting on a far couch, talking quietly to a guy with almost shoulder length black hair, hands laced together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the patients filled in, followed by a woman in pant suit who shut the door behind her. She looked like she belonged in an office, not a psychiatric facility.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, everyone,” she began, taking a seat at the head of the circle. “I'm Dr. Jackson and I'll be running today's morning meeting. We have a new face with us today, so why don't we go around and introduce ourselves. Ryan, how about you start. Why don't you tell everyone your name, age, and a little about yourself?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Ryan,” Ryan began, voice even. “I'm 19 and I'm here because I have PTSD and I uh, hear some voices.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, how much do we have to share?” A boy with thick eyeliner and black hair that hung in his face asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Language please, Pete.” She scolded. “Just as much as you're comfortable with.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To the left of Ryan was a guy with strawberry blonde hair and thick glasses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Patrick,” he began. “I'm 20 and I have depression and anxiety and-” Patrick mumbled something Brendon couldn't make out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Bob,” the next guy in the circle said. “I'm 24 and the reason I'm here isn't any of your goddamn business.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Jackson sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bob usually isn't out of lockup for more than a few hours.” Ryan whispered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I'm Pete. I'm 21 and apparently I get really angry sometimes.” The next man said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apparently?” Patrick asked with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stuff it, Stump.” Pete grinned, shoving him lightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick flipped him off in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guys,” Dr. Jackson scolded, getting Pete and Patrick to settle down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence as the next guy in the circle was looking down at his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Walker?” Dr. Jackson prompted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head flew up. “Oh, I'm Jon Walker. The Bass Player.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard let out a high pitched maniacal giggle from his side of the room. “Adding ‘the bass player’ doesn't help anyone recognize you, you’ve played like 3 and a half live shows.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon scowled at him. “I’ve played 6, thanks.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Dr. Jackson, but I've already said that.” She interjected before Gerard could say anything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frank.” The boy with nail polish said. “ ‘m 19. Here for drug shit ‘n anger.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boundaries please boys.” Dr Jackson said, eyeing the boys’ hands. Frank pulled his away from Gerard, eyes downcast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already know who I am.” Gerard winked, his sharp teeth locked in a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Spencer.” The next boy said, eyes glued to the ground. “I'm here for eating stuff and anxiety.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm Dallon, 23.” Dallon said. He pushed his light hair out of his face. “I'm here to work on Manic bipolar, anger and… being a sex addict.” He said, eyes flickering over Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon tensed, crossing him arms over himself self consciously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't you have to be able to get laid to be a sex addict?” Ryan asked challengingly, and somewhat defensively Brendon noticed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shut the fuck up, Ross.” Dallon replied. “You know damn well I get laid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't think you're in a position to be telling me to quiet down, Weekes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dallon’s face went red and Brendon paled at the realization that that was the boy that was fingering himself on the other side of his wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's enough.” Dr. Jackson snapped. “Tyler?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler was tiny, his arms housing multiple blackout tattoos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Well you know my name now,” he began, playfully glaring at Dr. Jackson. “But I'm 17 and I have DID.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. He thought he’d heard that acronym somewhere before but wasn't totally sure what it meant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And this is Josh!” Tyler said, resting a hand on Mohawk boy’s shoulder. “He doesn't talk, but he's here because he's real sad and has no friends! ‘Cept for me of course.” He smiled toothily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Josh tried to suppress a smile, fondly swatting at Tyler's arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler gasped. “He hit me.” He said with mock seriousness, facing the doctor. “I want all his privileges cut for the week!” He exclaimed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You done with the theatrics?” Pete asked, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Jackson spoke before it could escalate. She was good at that. Brendon imagined she'd have to be to deal with a room full of rowdy boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to tell us a little bit about yourself, Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh,” Brendon began. “I'm Brendon, I'm 18 and I'm from Vegas. And I'm here for depression I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just depression?” Dr. Jackson prompted? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon squinted at her, opening his mouth to reply when the door swung open, grabbing everyone's attention and effectively cutting him off. A young woman stuck her head in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're going to see Dr. Uma now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stood up, and Ryan's hand shot out as if to grab his shoulder, but he stopped at the last minute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good luck.” He said instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon replied with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma was an older looking woman with straight blonde hair and a nose that reminded Brendon of a beak. She waited for the door to shut and Brendon to sit before she even looked up at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Brendon,” she began. “I’m Dr. Uma.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” Brendon said awkwardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“First things first.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk. “How was your first night? I’ve heard you’ve taken a liking to Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon bit his nails, suddenly feeling defensive. “ ‘s fine,” He shrugged. “Ryan’s nice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma nodded. “So I don't know how much he has told you about this program but you are obligated to participate in at least two groups each day. One therapeutic and one recreational. You’ll sign up for the therapeutic ones now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your choices are a group to work with family issues, one for drug and other types of addiction, one for anxiety and social skills, one for eating disorders and self esteem, anger, and one for depression, BPD, self harm and other intense mental illnesses. Any pique your interest?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The family one.” Brendon said. “And the depression one.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma wrote a few things down. “We should go over your history today, too,”  She said, opening a file. “It looks like you were hospitalized two years ago for a suicide attempt. Wanna tell me a little bit about that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I uh, slit my wrists.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does that have anything to do with why you’re here today?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Brendon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let's start there then. What brought you here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't respond. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma sighed. “Right, Brendon I know why you’re here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s brows came together, not totally understanding. Honestly, he wasn't totally sure why he was here, so how did she? Did his mother not bring him here to prevent another suicide attempt? He was fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” Brendon started. “There's nothing wrong though. I'm not feeling unsafe.I mean, yeah, I’m a little depressed and I smoke too much, but that’s it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The doctor flipped through his file. “Your mother said you haven’t been eating.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon scoffed. “I eat plenty.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You fainted from malnutrition and or dehydration.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like I have the body of someone who is </span>
  <em>
    <span>malnourished?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brendon spit with disgust. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma shrugged, writing something down. “Doesn’t matter what you look like. You have the symptoms.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're pale, your hair and skin are dull and you're experiencing vertigo.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon just shook his head, eyes on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do just want to grab your height and weight real quick if you don't mind taking off your hoodie and shoes for a moment.” She said, eyeing the scale in the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I uh would prefer to not do that.” Brendon said, holding tightly onto his sleeves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry.” Dr. Uma began, “You're not allowed to see any numbers, just need a baseline of your vitals for the remainder of your stay with us.” She stood up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn't exactly the answer Brendon was looking for. Honestly, that was probably worse. Regardless, he shrugged out of his hoodie and shoes and stepped over onto the scale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma moved the little weight until it balanced out, writing down the results. Brendon tried not to guess how many digits she scribbled down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heels to the wall.” She said, writing down his height as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Dr. Uma began. “Thank you for cooperating. It seems like we’ve done enough for today. I do have to recommend that you sit in for one of the eating disorder groups.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get it, Brendon, I do, but recovery is a decision.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes again, grabbing his hoodie and slipping his shoes back on. He left without another word, letting the door slam behind him.  He didn't need some doctor telling him what was wrong with him. He knew what was fucking wrong with him, he was fucking disgusting, but he certainly didn't have a body that someone with an eating disorder would have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stomped through the halls back to room 109. He pushed through the door, letting it slam behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus!” Ryan jumped, dropping his book down on the bed where he was laying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, Ryan had to fucking be here to watch Brendon freak out. Like he didn't have enough against him already.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Brendon barked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan sat up. “Something happen?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon deflated as the other boy’s warm eyes studied him. He sat on his bed with a huff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What kind of music do you like to play?” Brendon asked, changing the subject. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan cocked an eyebrow at him. “I like Queen a lot. I can play some Third Eye Blind and Counting Crows. Uh, Sixpence None The Richer, NOFX, Blink 182, The Killers. Pink Floyd?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. He didn't have bad taste.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you play something?” Brendon asked quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't respond, but the sound of acoustic guitar flooded the room. “Have any request?” He asked, picking a few random chords.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything is fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan lightly strummed a few familiar chords, having to stop a few times, picking random notes in an attempt to find the right ones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should warn you that I can't sing.” Ryan said with a sad smile, but he began anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>When there's nowhere else to run, Is there room for one more son? One more son, If you can hold on, If you can hold on, hold on</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can sing, you fucking liar.” Brendon interrupted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sing with me.” Ryan replied, trying to get the attention off of himself. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to stand up, I want to let go. You know, you know, no you don't, you don't. I want to shine on in the hearts of men. I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Come here, I can't hear you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes fondly, crossing the room and sitting next to Ryan on the edge of his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I need direction to perfection, no no no no, help me out. Yeah, you know you got to help me out. Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner. You know you got to help me out, yeah” </span>
  </em>
  <span>They sang together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was watching Ryan’s long fingers dance across the frets, but he couldn’t help notice Ryan smiling broadly out of the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They entered the outro, Brendon’s voice easily harmonizing with Ryan’s. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Over and in, last call for sin. While everyone's lost, the battle is won. With all these things that I've done. All these things that I've done.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon could see the goosebumps on Ryan’s neck. Ryan turned, feeling the weight of Brendon’s gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Ryan began, letting the guitar settle in his lap. “You have something in your hair, can I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded and swallowed thickly. They were closer than he thought. Ryan carefully carded his hand through Brendon’s bangs, pulling out the piece of fluff. Brendon had to force himself not to let his eyes flutter shut. He couldn't help it, his eyes dropped to Ryan’s lips and back again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan seemed to notice, studying his eyes carefully. He ran his hand through Brendon’s hair again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Time for group!” A loud voice yelled, breaking Brendon out of his trance. He stood up quickly, his vision going dark for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ryan began. “I just-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No it’s okay,” Brendon replied. “I’m sorry.” He said, and practically sprinted out of the room. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3(Reupload)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uhhh TW for this chapter. self harm, some violence, and drug mention. beware.</p><p>**Also I decided to edit this chapter. I have a real plot now and the end of this chapter doesn't fit and is bothering the hell out of me. Sorry</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brendon burst out of his room and started down the hall. He didn't know where he was going until he pushed into the courtyard. Gerard was sitting in the flowers, across from a dark haired woman that couldn't be more than a few years older than him. Maybe 27 or 28. He perked up when he saw Brendon frozen in place. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi Brendon!” He waved, causing the woman to turn around. She gave Brendon a small smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Hi.” Brendon replied awkwardly. </p><p> </p><p>Gerard frowned, getting up. He walked past the woman, through the flowers over to Brendon. </p><p> </p><p>“You okay?” He asked, tilting his head like a lost puppy. </p><p> </p><p>Gerard seemed like a completely different person. He was calm and serious, something Brendon hadn’t seen before. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Brendon said dismissively. “I don't wanna interrupt whatever you're doing.” He said, gesturing between Gerard and the woman. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that's just Lynz. She’s a hypnotherapist.” </p><p> </p><p>“A <em> hypnotherapist?” </em>Brendon asked, waiting for Gerard to elaborate. He didn't. “She seems kinda young.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said shrugging. “Frankie doesn't like her.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” </p><p> </p><p>“He thinks she flirts with me.” He said quietly.</p><p> </p><p>“Does she?” </p><p> </p><p>Gerard shrugged. “I dunno. Doesn't matter though. I love Frankie and he knows that.” </p><p> </p><p>“That's good.” </p><p> </p><p>Lynz got up and walked over to the two of them. She seemed to be watching Gerard carefully. </p><p> </p><p>“Why don't you go take a seat Gee, so we can finish?” She suggested. </p><p> </p><p>Gerard nodded a few times, his eyes fluttering like her voice was putting him to sleep. He took a few steps back, sitting back down in the flowers. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s still under.” Lynz explained quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“Still <em> under? </em> Like under hypnosis?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Exactly.” Lynz said. She looked passed Brendon out the glass door. “Actually…” she began. “Can you just watch him for a second, I have to take care of something.” </p><p> </p><p>“Is he… okay? Do I have to do anything?” He asked. </p><p> </p><p>Lynz shook her head. “He’s just very open right now, might try to talk about his problems. Like all of them. He won't remember anything after I wake him so don't take advantage of him or anything. I really gotta go, though.” Brendon tried to protest but she was already pushing past him into the hall.</p><p> </p><p>Brendon furrowed his brow, shuffling over to Gerard and taking a seat next to where he was laying. “Can I ask you something?” </p><p> </p><p>Gerard nodded, arms and legs spread out like he was making a snow angel. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you close with Ryan?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>“I like to think so, I’ve known him a while.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon wanted to ask how long, but it seemed wrong since he was in such an honest state. He felt bad enough for the questions he was about to ask. </p><p> </p><p>“He’s a good guy, right? Like not judgemental or anything?” </p><p> </p><p>“Ryan?” Gerard half slurred. “Nah, Ryan’s a sweetheart. A little fucked in the head, but a sweetheart. Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon could feel his cheeks heating up. He pushed past his embarrassment and forced the words out. “I dunno. He’s yknow, nice, and attractive and makes my heart race. Like more than it usually does.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Gerard giggled. “You gonna go for it?” </p><p> </p><p>“Go for it?” Brendon gasped. “I just met the guy! And besides, I’m yknow.” He said, gesturing to himself. </p><p> </p><p>Gerard squinted at him, not understanding but he didn't push. “He’s a good guy Brendon. And you seem like one too. He could use a good friend like you at the very least.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon sighed. “I guess.” </p><p> </p><p>“Take it slow. You’ll be fine. I don't see why he wouldn't like you.” </p><p> </p><p>“I really appreciate it, Gerard.” </p><p> </p><p>“Course.” He replied. </p><p> </p><p>“Should get going.” Brendon said, standing up. “You gonna be okay?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Gerard said dreamily. “Lynz will be back soon.” </p><p> </p><p>“Sweet. I’ll see ya.” He should really get to group, maybe apologize for running out on Ryan. He went to the glass door, looking for Lynz when two voices made him stop. </p><p> </p><p>“Just because it didn't work for you, doesn't mean it isn't working for him.” One of the voices snapped. It sounded like Lynz. </p><p> </p><p>“He forgets shit after you wake him. Shit about <em> me </em> , and it's replaced with shit about <em> you </em>. You could be feeding him lies that he interprets as truth.” The second voice said in a harsh whisper. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re paranoid, Frank. He tells me everyday that he loves you.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not fucking paranoid, Lynz. I’ve done your therapy, I’ve heard what you said when you thought I was under.” Frank spit. </p><p> </p><p>There was a moment of silence. “I don't know what you mean.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes you fucking do, you witch. You were asking me about him. You asked me about my feelings for him.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon couldn't bear to listen any longer. He pushed through the door, pretending to be surprised at Frank and Lynz’s hushed conversation. </p><p> </p><p>“I uh, gotta go to group.” Brendon said. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Lynz said. “I’ll take care of him.” </p><p> </p><p>Frank scowled, taking off down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Brendon had no idea where to go. He walked down the hall until he came upon the front desk. A male nurse sat at his desk, typing away. </p><p> </p><p>“What can I do for you?” He smiled as Brendon approached. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m supposed to be in group, I think.” Brendon replied. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you know which one?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>The man spun around in his chair, picking up a clipboard, eyes scanning it quickly. He raised a brow. “Looks like Dr. Uma has you down for every group. To ‘get to know your peers and decide what you need to work on’” He read. “You're in a self esteem group in 4A right now.” </p><p> </p><p>Was Dr. Uma trying to punish him for storming out? What could Brendon possibly gain from anger or addiction groups?  </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Brendon said anyways, making his way down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>~*~ </p><p> </p><p>Brendon entered the lounge room, cutting Spencer off mid sentence. He gave Brendon an expressionless glance and continued talking as he took a seat. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve tried just going to the gym to gain muscle but I ended up running for two hours.” </p><p> </p><p>The woman running the group nodded. “Could you try weight training at home?” </p><p> </p><p>Spencer shook his head with a shrug. “I can't afford to get weights right now.” </p><p> </p><p>“What’s your goal for today, Spencer?” </p><p> </p><p>“Ideally? Not have a panic attack if I eat more than a few cucumbers at lunch.” </p><p> </p><p>It seemed like a pretty small group to Brendon. Besides himself and Spencer, the only people there were Patrick and Josh. </p><p> </p><p>“Good.” The woman said. “I think that's very doable. How about you Josh? Did you complete your last goal?” </p><p> </p><p>Josh paled as the attention was turned to him. He shook his head once, fast enough that Brendon almost missed it. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sticking with the same goal today?” She asked. </p><p> </p><p>He shook his head again. </p><p> </p><p>“Was it too much too soon?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded, bouncing his knee. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, but you have a new goal?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded. </p><p> </p><p>“Great.” She met Brendon's eye for the first time since he entered. “Welcome to the group, Brendon. I'm Fiona, we're almost done for today, just going over our daily goals. Would you like to talk a little bit about what brings you here with us?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon shook his head. No fucking way. Nobody needed to hear how lowly Brendon thought of himself. Besides, the only thing worse than disgust was pity.</p><p> </p><p>“How about a goal then?” She asked. “One hard thing you can do today. It could be as small as attending a meal, there's no wrong answer here.”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon shrugged, trying to think of some bullshit he can spout that's also convincing. “I think I'm just working on settling in right now.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, that's a good goal!” Fiona said. “What can you do to accomplish it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just learning how everything works around here I guess.” He shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>“That's a great, Brendon,” Fiona smiled. “I think we’re all set for today!”</p><p> </p><p>“Is the group usually so small?” Brendon asked the room as Fiona started packing up her bag and a few other patients filed out. </p><p> </p><p>“Ryan usually comes.” Patrick said. </p><p> </p><p>“I haven't seen him since breakfast.” Spencer commented, shifting in his chair. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Patrick said. “You're his roommate right? Is he okay?” </p><p> </p><p>“I don't know.” Brendon replied. “I could go check on him, I suppose.” </p><p> </p><p>“The group’s over anyways.” Spencer shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon took that as an invitation to leave, making his way to the hall. He entered their dark bedroom, surprised when he didn't find Ryan on his bed. His patterned button down was laying in the middle of the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“Ryan?” </p><p> </p><p>No response. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon's attention was drawn to the bathroom door. It was cracked open, light flooding out. Brendon felt his stomach drop. Something wasn't right. </p><p> </p><p>He stepped forward, pushing the door open.  “Ryan?” He asked again. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan sat on the floor, back against the wall. He was in a t-shirt, bare arms resting on his paisley covered knees. His wrists were flipped up, blood dripping down off his pointy elbows, pooling on the floor. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit.” Brendon said, frozen. </p><p> </p><p>“You're supposed to be in group.” Ryan said flatly, eyes glued to the opposite wall. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit,” He said again. Brendon forced himself into action, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and dropping to the floor next to Ryan. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I?” Brendon asked hesitantly. Ryan nodded, just slightly. </p><p> </p><p>He took one of Ryan’s wrists carefully, and then the other, gently dabbing the wounds so he could see the damage. There were only three or four cuts on each arm and they weren’t deep enough to require stitches, but they weren’t that shallow either. </p><p> </p><p>“What did you use?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan’s eyes flickered down to the floor on the left of them. Brendon picked up the scrap of aluminum, inspecting it. It was a piece of a soda can. </p><p> </p><p>“D’you have the rest of it?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon threw the metal and bloodied tissue into the toilet, flushing it. He grabbed a facecloth off of the sink and wet it with hot water. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” Brendon asked quietly, wiping the length of Ryan’s forearms. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan let his head fall back into the tiles with a <em> thunk </em>. “He just wouldn’t shut up.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who wouldn’t?” </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Thunk. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“The voice,” Ryan said tiredly. “He won't shut the fuck up.”</p><p> </p><p>“Did he tell you to do this?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan nodded, letting his head fall back again, but Brendon slipped a hand in front of the wall just in time, catching the other boy’s head. </p><p> </p><p>“Please stop.” Brendon whispered. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan swallowed, eyes not meeting Brendon’s. </p><p> </p><p>He carefully took his hand away, rinsing the rag with steaming water. He pressed it to Ryan’s wrists lightly, trying to dissolve the dried blood without agitating his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Y’shouldn’t have to do this.” Ryan muttered, looking at the thick white scars on Brendon’s wrists. </p><p> </p><p>“No, I shouldn’t have run out on you like that. It was rude if- if nothing else.” He could feel Ryan watching him, but he kept his eyes down. </p><p> </p><p>“You know I didn't do this because you ran off, right?” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn't think that.” Brendon said.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” Ryan replied anxiously. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon stood up, holding out a hand. “Can you stand?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan nodded, taking Brendon’s hand. He swayed a little when he stood, gripping Brendon’s arm for balance. </p><p> </p><p>The red spots on Ryan’s white t-shirt caught Brendon’s attention. He inspected Ryan’s pants as well, almost laughing when he didn't see a drop of blood on them. It wasn’t fair that the fucking ugly bell bottoms were spared but Ryan’s milky skin wasn't. </p><p> </p><p>“We gotta get you out of this,” Brendon said, tugging at Ryan’s shirt. “People were asking for you at group. I don't want the nurses to come looking for you and find you in this.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan walked past him slowly. “I wanna go to bed.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ry. You’ll get in trouble.” He said, following the older boy out of the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>“‘m so tired.” </p><p> </p><p>“Then-” Brendon began. “Then let me do it.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan paused, the weight of the words filling the air. He turned around, nodding. Ryan lifted his arms as he approached. Brendon slowly pulled his shirt up, gingerly guiding his arms through the holes, pulling it over his head. He tossed it behind him in the general direction of the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>He could feel Ryan’s eyes burning into him as he searched his dresser for a shirt that would cover his arms. Brendon cursed under his breath. All Ryan had were t-shirts and scratchy button ups. He pulled a cotton long sleeve out of his dresser instead.</p><p> </p><p>Brendon tried to not let his eyes roam over Ryan’s chest as he walked back over to him, so he made the mistake of meeting his eyes again. They were warm but glassy, still somehow looking through Brendon.</p><p> </p><p>“Gimme your arms.” Brendon said, voice wavering.</p><p> </p><p>Ryan held out his arms, letting Brendon feed his hands through the sleeves, making sure not to reopen the wounds. Brendon tried not to think about how nice Ryan looked in his loose shirt. </p><p> </p><p>He could feel his cheeks heating up under Ryan’s intense gaze. This was not the time to be getting flustered, he was just changing his shirt. It wasn't that big of a deal. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I… hug you?” Ryan asked quietly, close enough that Brendon could feel his breath on his face. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon nodded weakly. “I- if you want to.”</p><p> </p><p>Ryan brought his hands up to cup the back of Brendon’s neck, having to wiggle his fingers out from the baggy sleeves. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” Ryan said softly, hugging Brendon tightly. “For everything.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon wound his arms around Ryan’s waist, practically having to hold the older boy up as he slouched against him. </p><p> </p><p>He felt Ryan stiffen, burying his face in Brendon’s neck. “He doesn't like you.”</p><p> </p><p>Ryan muttered against his skin, giving him goosebumps. </p><p> </p><p>“Good. I don't like him either.” Brendon replied. </p><p> </p><p>“I think he’s scared of you.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon opened his mouth to reply, but Ryan groaned, stumbling out of Brendon’s arms and sitting on the edge of his bed. He hung his head, gripping his hair. “He didn't like that.” Ryan said, voice cracking. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon sat next to Ryan, heart racing. He rubbed Ryan’s back, squeezing his shoulders. “Fuck off.” Ryan growled in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon’s hand stilled, but Ryan leaned into him reassuringly. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s he saying?” He asked quietly. </p><p> </p><p>“Really bad things.” Ryan replied, misty eyes meeting Brendon’s. </p><p> </p><p>“What can I do?” </p><p> </p><p>“Can-” Ryan began. Brendon squeezed his shoulder again. “Can you stay with me while I try to sleep?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Brendon replied. “At some point I’m gonna have to go to lunch to cover for us, though. They’ll come looking.” </p><p> </p><p>“Will you be here when I wake up?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon bit his lip and nodded. “I’ll try my best.”</p><p> </p><p>Ryan crawled under the covers while Brendon stayed sat on the edge of the bed. Brendon rubbed his back as he exhaled peacefully. </p><p> </p><p>They stayed like that for a few minutes, Brendon trying to keep his racing thoughts under control, focusing on Ryan’s rhythmic breathing instead.</p><p> </p><p>Ryan jumped, in turn, making Brendon jump.  </p><p> </p><p>“15 minutes of peace. That’s all I fucking need.” Ryan muttered angrily. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I sing something for you?” Brendon offered. </p><p> </p><p>“Would you mind?” Ryan asked, looking up at Brendon through his lashes. </p><p> </p><p>“Course not.” Brendon replied. He began singing the first song he could think of, the one that’s been stuck in his head for the past few days. “<em> Don’t think of me like that, just picture me leaving and not coming back, </em> ” Keaton Henson was always great for lullabies. “ <em> I sat where we sat, just picking the labels and lighting a match. </em>” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan sighed contently. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> Darling, your arms are on backwards, you know. Course you know. Darling, you ache for my love and it shows. Let it go. </em> ” Brendon sang softly. “ <em> One day you'll drink from my bones and scream as you rip out my throat, Don't let me, don't let me go. </em>” </p><p> </p><p>He finished the rest of the song, making sure Ryan was asleep before getting up. </p><p> </p><p>It didn't take Brendon nearly as long as he thought it would to scrub the blood out of the bathroom. He used Ryan's already ruined t-shirt with some toothpaste and it came right out. </p><p> </p><p>Getting rid of the shirt was a little harder. He washed out as much blood as he could, settling on stuffing it under his mattress for the time being. </p><p> </p><p>He stopped to tell a nurse that Ryan wouldn't make it to lunch on his way into the cafeteria. He scanned the lunchroom, looking for the familiar head of bright red hair.</p><p> </p><p>Gerard and Frank occupied half of the table they sat at this morning. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I join you?” Brendon asked as he approached the table. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course!” Gerard exclaimed with a grin. “No Ryan?”</p><p> </p><p>Frank offered a shy smile, picking at the remaining polish on his nails. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon sat across from him. “Nah, he’s sleeping.” </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I see. I'm gonna get food,” Gerard declared. “Save my seat.”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon and Frank sat in awkward silence for a moment as Gerard walked away.</p><p> </p><p>“So about what I heard in the hall today-”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn't hear shit in the hall.” Frank growled, cutting Brendon off. </p><p> </p><p>“No, no, I'm not gonna say anything to anyone,” Brendon said, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. “I get bad vibes from her too.” </p><p> </p><p>Frank deflated a little. “It's more than bad fucking vibes.” He grumbled. “She's a motherfuckin’ witch.”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon wasn't sure he wanted to ask if Frank meant a literal witch or not. “Is she really doing what you said she is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, man. Heard it with my own ears, and Gerard tells me all about his sessions. Y’know he forgot my birthday? It’s in fuckin Halloween! How can you forget that shit?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah!” Frank exclaimed. “He remembered <em> hers </em> just fine though. I swear she's fucking up to something.  Hey, do you have to go to hypnotherapy?” </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, I don't think so.” Brendon said. “I haven't so far.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. If you have to go, make sure you don't let her put you under. Pretend if you have to.” Frank said, voice dropping to a whisper as Gerard rejoined the table. </p><p> </p><p>“Sooo?” Gerard asked eagerly, nudging Brendon’s shin with his foot. </p><p> </p><p>“So what?” Brendon deflected with a laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“Did you talk to him?” Gerard asked.</p><p> </p><p>Brendon froze. “Wait- she told me you wouldn't remember.” </p><p> </p><p>Gerard shrugged. “Some things stick. Others don't.” </p><p> </p><p>Frank scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>“So what happened?” Gerard asked again. “You tire him out?” he smirked. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, it wasn't like that.” Brendon argued. </p><p> </p><p>“Mmhm.” Gerard said, scrunching up his eyes and blinking hard a few times. “Sure…” </p><p> </p><p>“The fuck was that?” Brendon laughed. “You got something in your eye?” </p><p> </p><p>“No I’m…I’m winking, I’m trying to wink at you, you moron.” </p><p> </p><p>“That definitely wasn’t a wink.” Frank said, cracking a smile. </p><p> </p><p>Gerard beamed at Frank, giving his cheek a quick pinch. “You’re a cutie pie.” he exclaimed. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh fuck you!” Frank said, shoving him. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll assume you didn't talk to him then.” Gerard said, shoving Frank back. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s nothing to talk about.” Brendon shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay...” Gerard said, unconvinced. “But if you do talk to him, you need to take this as a token of good luck.” He started digging around in his backpack.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Brendon began. “You don’t have to give me anything, it’s okay.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes I do.” Gerard said seriously. “But this is contraband, so you have to be careful.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon’s brows came together in confusion. </p><p> </p><p>“Aha!” Gerard exclaimed, pulling out a bag, shoving it in Brendon’s lap. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon inspected the baggie. “Is this- This is just a bag of Lucky Charms- Oh my god.” </p><p> </p><p>Gerard grinned toothily at him. “Don't get caught!” </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>After lunch, Brendon attended his first smoke break. He had somehow missed the morning one when he had therapy. After a cigarette he felt a fuck ton better. Dizzier, but better. No wonder he was so fucking nauseous. </p><p> </p><p>He did manage to have half a pear at lunch, but he had still been feeling pretty sick. He should’ve known nicotine would solve his problems. It usually did. </p><p> </p><p>He had intended to check on Ryan before sitting in on the addiction group, but on his way back to his room he ran into Tyler, quite literally. </p><p> </p><p>“Oops.” Brendon said, stumbling back. </p><p> </p><p>“Watch where you’re fucking going.” Tyler spit. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon blinked in response. He was confused, the Tyler he met earlier in the day didn't seem like the violent type. </p><p> </p><p>“You gonna apologize?” Tyler asked, getting in his face. “Stupid piece of shit.”  </p><p> </p><p>Brendon visibly flinched at the insult. </p><p> </p><p>Tyler raised an eyebrow at him.“Did I strike a nerve?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope.” Brendon tried, blinking away a few stupid tears threatening to spill over. God, he was a piece of shit huh? Getting so worked up over an insult.</p><p> </p><p>“You think you’re hot shit don't you?” Tyler challenged. “Fuck you.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon opened his mouth to say something, anything that might help deescalate the situation, but Tyler scowled at him, stepping forward and kneeing him straight in the balls. </p><p> </p><p>“Motherfuck-” Brendon exclaimed, doubling over. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey!” A deep voice called. “What’s going on over here?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon stood up as a large burly man stomped over. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” Brendon said, still hunched over. </p><p> </p><p>The man looked at Tyler who just shook his head with a shrug. </p><p> </p><p>“Tyler, why don't you tell me why Brendon was just doubled over, clutching his groin.” </p><p> </p><p>“Blowjob gone wrong?” Tyler offered. </p><p> </p><p>The man rolled his eyes. “I don't know who I’m talking too, but you’re on thin ice. One more infraction and you’re gonna start losing privileges.”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon’s brows came together in confusion. </p><p> </p><p>“Doesn't matter who you’re talking too, Tyler can still hear you.” Tyler said. </p><p> </p><p>Instantly everything clicked. That must have been one of Tyler’s alters. </p><p> </p><p>“Where are you supposed to be?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Who, me or Tyler?” </p><p> </p><p>The man rolled his eyes again. “Just get to your therapist’s office.” He said. “As for you,” he said, turning to Brendon. “You’re with me in the substance group.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, okay.” Brendon said, straightening his pants and taking a few deep breaths to recover. </p><p> </p><p>The man turned around, walking into a meeting room. </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry we’re late,” he said to the patients already sitting in the room. “I had to take care of something. You can take a seat, Brendon.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon looked around awkwardly. This group was quite a bit bigger than the last one he attended. Spencer and Jon Walker The Bass Player shared a loveseat, Frank and Bob sharing the other one. Dallon sat alone on a couch. When Brendon made eye contact with him, he smiled and waved him over. </p><p> </p><p>“You looked a little lost.” Dallon explained as Brendon crossed the room, taking a seat next to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Brendon said with a small smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright.” The man boomed. “Thank you for joining us today, Brendon. You can call me Dr. Double D.” </p><p> </p><p>Dallon snickered. </p><p> </p><p>“Don't you start Dallon, it’s been a weird morning.” The man retorted. “Yes, I’m Dr. Double D, if that makes you uncomfortable, you can call me Dr. D, or just Triple D if you prefer.”</p><p> </p><p>“What do the D’s stand for?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>“That's for me to know and you to never find out.” He replied. “Okay so let's begin.” </p><p> </p><p>The man's fast topic changes were making Brendon dizzy. </p><p> </p><p>“Dr. Double D is addicted to caffeine pills.” Dallon whispered as quietly as he could. </p><p> </p><p>“He also has supersonic hearing.” Dr. D said. “Since you're so talkative today, why don't you begin, Dallon. How are your urges?” </p><p> </p><p>Dallon rolled his eyes. “Well I've jacked off 4 times already and it's only 1 pm, so…”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you always have to be so crass?” Dr. D asked, actually getting upset now. “Is everything always this hard with you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh you know it is, Doc. Isn't that the problem?” Dallon winked easily. </p><p> </p><p>The room erupted in half-suppressed giggles. </p><p> </p><p>“Don't encourage him.” Dr. D growled, rubbing his large hands over his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on,” Dallon drawled. “Everyone would fuck me. Brendon’s known me for like, 6 hours and he'd fuck me. Right Brendon?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon paled. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, right Brendon?” Frank giggled. </p><p> </p><p>“Uhh..” Brendon said, cheeks heating up. </p><p> </p><p>“Just shut the fuck up, Weekes. Sex addiction isn't even real.” Bob interrupted.  </p><p> </p><p>Jon Walker The Bass Player snorted. “And marijuana addiction is? Who the fuck gets addicted to <em> weed? </em>” </p><p> </p><p>“What was that, Walker?” Bob asked, cupping a hand around his ear dramatically. “I couldn't hear you with Spencer's cock in your mouth.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don't fucking drag me into this.” Spencer grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p> </p><p>“You girls done?” Frank asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, that's sexist.” Jon exclaimed. </p><p> </p><p>“Enough.” Said Dr. D, sounding rather worn out. </p><p> </p><p>“Dude I wear fucking nail polish, how the fuck am I sexist?” Frank spit back, face scrunching in confusion. </p><p> </p><p>“Enough!” Dr. D boomed, making Brendon jump. “One more word, Weekes. I swear to god.”</p><p> </p><p>Dallon held his hands up, surrendering. </p><p> </p><p>Dr. D deflated, the redness visibly draining from his face again. It really was a good thing Dallon stopped because it looked like Dr. D was about to go into cardiac arrest. </p><p> </p><p>“Spencer.” Dr. D said calmly. “Are you feeling any better than yesterday? Cravings still there?”</p><p> </p><p>“They're worse, thanks.” Spencer replied tensely. </p><p> </p><p>“Just taking one bump- instead of taking three- after you start coming down doesn't count as tapering, Spencer.” Dr. D retorted. </p><p> </p><p>Spencer blushed, shamefully looking down. </p><p> </p><p>“You're strong, Spencer,” Dr. D began, voice softer. “You gotta know you're strong right? You've come so far since you first got here. The people that care about you, myself and this group included, want to see you succeed because we know that you can. I promise it'll get easier.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes downcast. “Thanks.” He nodded, voice tight. He blinked quickly. “Really.” </p><p> </p><p>Dr. D smiled at him warmly. He was a weird man, honestly, but Brendon liked him. He really seemed like a good guy. </p><p> </p><p>“Frank, how are you handling the withdrawal?” Dr. D asked, smoothly switching the subject. </p><p> </p><p>“Feels like my body is rejecting itself.” Frank said, running a hand through his hair. He did look kinda pale, Brendon noticed. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s normal for narcotic dependency. You’ll sweat it out in a couple days. Keep holding on man, you're doing great.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon ended up spacing out for most of the group. It’s not that he didn't care- well… that might have been part of it. The only person he even sort of knew was Frank, and Frank had stopped talking like, 10 minutes ago. What he was really worried about was Ryan. He said he’d be there for him after lunch when he woke up, and thanks to Tyler- or whoever that was- he couldn't do that. And it was driving him crazy. </p><p> </p><p>When group finally ended, Brendon practically sprinted out of the meeting room, down the hall to room 109. He didn't bother knocking before quietly pushing into the room. The room was still dark, but Ryan was no longer asleep. </p><p> </p><p>He sat up against the wall, arms around the knees that he had snuggled close to his chest. Tears stained his cheeks and blood stained the sleeves of his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus, Ryan I’m so sorry.” Brendon said. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan’s head snapped up. “No, <em> fuck </em>.” he began, voice soft. He just sounded so defeated, it broke Brendon’s heart. “None of this is because of you, you need to know that. It’s just really shitty timing.” </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Brendon said, crossing the room. “I believe you. What happened, though?” He asked. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan shook his head, eyes downcast. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I see your arms please?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon could physically feel Ryan’s hesitation. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” He said eventually. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon joined Ryan on his bed. He was like a ragdoll, eyes unfocused on the opposite wall as Brendon pulled his arms away from his knees. He gently pulled Ryan’s sleeves back. The sleeves were dried to his skin, reopening the cuts when it was ripped away.</p><p> </p><p>Ryan jerked away suddenly, pulling the sleeves back down. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit, sorry. That hurt?” Brendon asked. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” he asked again. </p><p> </p><p>“Doesn't it bother you?” Ryan asked quietly, changing the subject. His eyes dropped to Brendon’s scars for the second time that day. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon sighed. Sure, he hadn’t cut himself in a long time but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced when he found Ryan, arms dripping a delicious crimson, the way his heart was racing now.</p><p> </p><p>“A little.” He replied honestly, going to get a few face cloth. He wet it with hot water, heading back over to Ryan and sitting next to him. “It’s nothing I can't handle.” </p><p> </p><p>“But you shouldn’t have to take care of me. I shouldn't be putting you in this position.” Ryan said, not meeting his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon carefully took his wrists, dissolving the newly dried blood. “Would you have stopped if I hadn’t come back early from group?” Brendon asked.</p><p> </p><p>“That-” Ryan began. “That's not the point.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon sighed, moving to the other wrist, being extra gentle around the deepest one. “It is what it is, okay?” </p><p> </p><p>“‘S not fair to you.” Ryan mumbled. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon pulled Ryan’s sleeves back down over his arms. “Seeing other people… bleed… doesn't bother me. I used to, uhm,” Brendon cleared his throat. “I would have to help my sister <em> clean up </em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon felt Ryan tense slightly. “What?” </p><p> </p><p>“I found her once. Like I found you.” He began, getting up for a moment to stuff the stained face cloth under his mattress again. “She was drunk. She gets drunk a lot now. But yeah, I have to patch her up from time to time.” he shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon could remember the first time he found Audrey like it was yesterday. She stumbled into their conjoined bathroom, sometime early in the morning, like 5 am or something. The noise woke Brendon from his fitful sleep. </p><p> </p><p>Random noises in a house of seven- er, six, were a commonplace. It wasn't something that would usually warrant Brendon to get out of bed, but he could feel something was wrong. The dread swirled in his stomach as he crept out of bed, slipping into the bathroom. </p><p> </p><p>Audrey was in the empty bathtub, arms spread and she bled into the tub. Brendon remembered comparing her pose to that of crucified Jesus. Angry red lines marked all the space on her pale arms. It was like her arms were more blood than skin. They weren't deep, that was clear from the way the blood was beading up. She was just watching the blood flow together, onto the white porcelain. Brendon was speechless, only letting out a squeak, though making her turn nonetheless. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit!” She exclaimed, uselessly flipping her arms over, like she could cover herself in time. “Brendon, I- please don't tell mom.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon had done the same thing he did with Ryan, cleaning her arms without a word. He ignored the stench of booze and cheap cologne wafting off of her, ignored the pale white lines that laid underneath the smeared blood, ignored the way she cried, begging not to tell mom. </p><p> </p><p>And he didn’t. Though he couldn't help but wonder when she started doing in. If it was before or after Brendon slit his wrists, and unfortunately, it was probably after. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn't the only time it happened, either. She was worse now, coming home more wrecked than alcohol alone could make her. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn't know you had a sister.” Ryan said softly, snapping him out of his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, two actually. Both older. I have two older brothers too.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m still sorry.” Ryan said after a beat. He leaned into Brendon, resting his head on his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon exhaled, releasing the tension in his body. “What about you?” He asked. “Do you have any siblings?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan tensed, making Brendon immediately feel guilty. It was clear family was a tough topic for Ryan, yet he kept asking those questions anyway. Tyler was right about him being stupid too.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Ryan replied, sitting up so he could better look at Brendon. “Just me and my parents.” </p><p> </p><p>“We don't have to talk about it if-” </p><p> </p><p>“No, its okay.” Ryan said, looking at his lap. “My uh father worked a lot when I was young so my mom pretty much raised me for the first half of my life. Besides Spencer, she was my best friend.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh you knew Spencer before here?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Ryan smiled. “We went to school together for a long time. Let me stay over whenever things got bad at home.” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon didn't ask him to elaborate.</p><p> </p><p>“I kinda stopped showing up to high school though, so we fell out of touch.” </p><p> </p><p>“Did you know,” Brendon began, “like, that he had stuff going on too?” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan laughed humorlessly. “Did I ever expect to reconnect with him in a hospital? Not really. I uh, spent my time in high school at home, making sure my mom was okay but Spence was out getting blackout drunk and doing coke. I did try to keep in touch with him for a while but uh, he would say a lot when he was drunk. More than I think he even intended to tell me yknow?”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon nodded.</p><p> </p><p>“And then the next day he wouldn't remember it. It was a lot to handle and I already had a lot to handle yknow?” Ryan shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon looked at Ryan intently. He wanted almost desperately to be able to tell Ryan that he liked hearing about him, and his past and all things he’s seen and done but he didn't know how to phrase it in a way that wasn't weird. “I know what you mean.” He said instead.</p><p> </p><p>It was silent for a moment. “Do you like it here so far?” Ryan asked, something in his eye Brendon couldn't identify. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I think so.” Brendon breathed out with a sigh. “Dr. Double D seems like a cool dude.” </p><p> </p><p>Ryan laughed in a way that made Brendon’s stomach flip. “Dr. Double D’s the fuckin’ best.” </p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Brendon didn't mean to spend the rest of the evening in his and Ryan’s room, talking to him about absolutely nothing, but he did. And it was great. </p><p> </p><p>Brendon had barely registered that the time passed until a nurse he hadn’t seen before came knocking. Brendon moved reluctantly from Ryan’s bed to his own as the man entered. </p><p> </p><p>“Night meds.” He said, holding out a little cup of pills for Ryan. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Tim.” Ryan replied, knocking them back. </p><p> </p><p>“Gerard and Frank were looking for you two at dinner.” Tim said as he began his exit. Brendon figured that was his subtle way of chiding them for skipping. </p><p> </p><p>“We’ll see ‘em at breakfast.” Ryan replied with a smile as Tim shut the door behind him. </p><p> </p><p>“Speaking of which,” Brendon began, taking the baggie of lucky charms out of his pocket and tossing it onto Ryan’s bed. “Gerard said these are for us. For good luck.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Ryan laughed, inspecting the bag. “And what are we needing good luck for?” </p><p> </p><p>Brendon felt his cheeks go pink, not expecting the question. “I uh, opened up to him a little about how I can have trouble socializing sometimes.” Brendon laughed awkwardly. “Told him I didn't want to scare you away.” </p><p> </p><p>“Scare me away?” Ryan raised a brow at Brendon, making him blush harder. “I don't know if you’ve met me Brendon but I haven't exactly got people lining up to spend time with me.” </p><p> </p><p>“I don't see why they wouldn't want to.” Brendon said before he had time to decide if it was a good idea or not. </p><p> </p><p>Ryan seemed taken aback, but smiled at him brightly. Then suddenly, he jolted, eyes squeezing shut. “Maybe because anytime I get a compliment my brain starts to attack itself.” he groaned weakly. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, I’m sorry,” Brendon said quickly. “Did you want to sing at all tonight?” </p><p> </p><p>That seemed to pull Ryan back to reality a little. </p><p> </p><p>“The best time to play music<em> is </em> room time.” Ryan commented, shaking whatever was bothering him out of his head and pulling his guitar out. “You gonna sing for me?” he rubbed his eyes roughly, still snapping out of it.</p><p> </p><p>Brendon chewed on his lip, cheeks heating up again. “You want me to?” he asked. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course.” Ryan said, taking his guitar and moving over to Brendon’s side of the room. “Scoot.” he said, pushing at Brendon’s side. Brendon recoiled, praying Ryan wouldn't notice, but no such luck. </p><p> </p><p>“Shit,” Ryan said, squatting at the edge of the bed. He laid the guitar on the floor. “Did I hurt you?” Ryan’s eyes widened. “You didn't- Brendon.” </p><p> </p><p>“What? No, Ryan I’m fine, I don't... do that anymore.” Brendon said, holding a hand up. </p><p> </p><p>“Then please explain to me what just happened so I can stop assuming I just grabbed open wounds.”</p><p> </p><p>Brendon opened his mouth to explain, but nothing came out. What the fuck was he supposed to say? ‘Sorry Ryan, I'm being a bitch because you're grabbing at the grossest parts of me?’ That's not gonna fly. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, show me.” Ryan said, eyes hot on Brendon. </p><p> </p><p><em> Okay </em> that's worse, shit, shit <em> shit </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Ryan I- look, you gotta trust me here, I didn't cut myself.” Brendon said, panic rising in his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Ryan was chewing on his nails. “If you have nothing to hide, then prove it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you being so weird about this?” Brendon exclaimed, stomach beginning to cramp. He was sucking in even harder with all Ryan's attention on his middle. </p><p> </p><p>“Why <em> am I </em> being weird about this? Why are <em> you?” </em>Ryan replied, matching his tone. “I trust you, Brendon but if nothing happened why won't you just show me?” </p><p> </p><p>“Because I'm fucking disgusting <em> okay </em>?” Brendon spit, cheeks red. He got up, pushing past Ryan and his shocked silence. “Jesus.” </p><p> </p><p>“Brendon, you-” </p><p> </p><p>“Leave it alone.” Brendon said, storming out into the hall. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't know where to go. To the garden he guessed, pushing out into the cold air. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shifted awkwardly, making his way to one of the small stone benches. He let out a deep sigh and wiped away the tears that definitely weren't streaming down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't fair. He was a prisoner to his own disgusting shell of a body. If he were thin, or attractive, or had any redeeming qualities he might even let himself develop feelings for Ryan. He was so kind and genuine. It did something to Brendon that he couldn't explain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Brendon knew how it went by now. Anyone he cared about would get sick of him eventually, or never tolerate him at all. Even some of the nicest people Brendon’s been with had ghosted him after they slept together. It was impossible to judge who was going to hurt him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was infinitely easier to not let anyone get close enough to try. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stifled a sob, knocking his wrist roughly against the stone bench, hard enough to bruise. The sting wrapped around him like a cold hug seeping into his skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulled the crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and put one between his lips, shuffling around in his pocket for a lighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucks sake.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need a light?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon jumped, eyes landing on Jon Walker as he entered the courtyard, lighting up something of his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon sat at the bench perpendicular to Brendon, handing him the lighter. He glanced at Brendon’s tear stained face in the soft glow of his cigarette.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon rolled what looked like a joint between his fingers, neck craning up to look at the clear sky. The moon was bright like a spotlight and the stars so defined you could practically see galaxies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Full moon tonight.” Jon commented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven't seen stars like this in years.” Brendon practically gasped. “Can't see shit like this in Vegas.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not much better in Chicago.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can't imagine it would be.” Brendon took a long drag, watching the smoke disappear into the cool sky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You live here all your life?” Jon asked, taking a hit of something that definitely didn't smell like a cigarette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I lived in Utah for a bit growing up. Don't remember most of it though.” The last of Brendon's good memories probably died in Utah like his relationship with his mother did. The only memory that really stood out was her walking in on him kissing his best friend of 3 years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the time Brendon didn't understand why she freaked out. They were only 10, and it was- it was just to <em>see</em>. He didn't mean anything by it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took another drag, shaking the thought from his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, gotcha.” Jon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You live around here?” Brendon asked. He barely had the mental capacity to hold a conversation but he wanted to be polite. And besides, it was just small talk and he was grateful Jon didn't try to ask what was wrong. He didn't have it in him right now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah. There was a branch of Clover Fields in Chicago and Jersey that both shut down around the same time. Something about budget cuts, yknow how it is. It was either move down here or go back to the hospital for a few months. I never needed anything that serious though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said, taking the last hit of his smoke and stubbing it into the metal ashtray between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Pete and Patrick came with me from Chicago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And Gerard is from Jersey right?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn, story moves fast huh? What's this, like your third day?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, almost.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded, dramatically blowing a smoke ring. He glanced behind Brendon, through the glass, something catching his eye. “Hey I should get back to my room. But you can finish this if you want.” He said, dropping the joint into the ashtray.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, you sure? I-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon said, getting up quickly. “If you don't wanna, just make sure you flush it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- okay.” Brendon stuttered as Jon practically bolted out the door. He watched Jon go back to his room, closely followed by what could've been Spencer. Brendon didn't have his glasses and granted, it was none of his business anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took the joint, inspecting it closely before taking a small hit. It seemed like decent weed. And he didn't think Jon would smoke half a laced joint just to drug Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inhaled deeper this time, letting the fog engulf his brain. Brendon didn't smoke weed regularly enough to ever buy it himself but he couldn't argue how good it hit on nights like these. Nights where he felt the darkness creeping up, close enough to reach him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smoked the joint down to the paper filter, fisting it tightly as he stood up. The walk back to his room was easier than he expected, lucky to not run into anyone while being fully high. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was however, Ryan to deal with. He didn't have the clarity to prepare a lie. He would have to hope Ryan just wouldn't ask why he ran away like a coward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon slipped into their room to find the lights off, Ryan in bed. He let out a sigh of relief, sneaking into the bathroom to flush the joint and wash his hands. When he reentered the room, Ryan still hadn't moved. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The meds really did knock him out.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>song was Milk Teeth by Keaton Henson.  this is defo where it started to go downhill last time and I didn't feel right about keeping the ending. Im gonna be slowing the plot down a little hopefully. Hope yall don't mind and hope you guys like where I end up taking this :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>***THE END OF THE LAST CHAPTER HAS BEEN REVISED. PLS HAVE A LOOK AT THAT BEFORE YOU READ THIS CHAPTER*** The whole thing with Dallon doesn't even happen so if you wanna know whats going on, pls check it out. Sorry for the inconvenience but it was a much needed change. </p><p> TW for drug mention and graphic desc. of scars</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the light that woke Brendon up, but the sound of a light knock and a nurse entering his room. It must’ve been morning now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't even remember falling asleep, the weed totally knocking him out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning Ryan.” The nurse said, tapping lightly on her keyboard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled over to face the wall, trying to fall back asleep. He was seriously exhausted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi Janice.” Ryan replied, his voice strange and distant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You here today?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't think so.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard her type something out, exhaling lightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what time it is?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-” Ryan began. Brendon heard the sheets ruffle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can't look at the clock Ry, that's cheating.” Janice chuckled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then I, no. I don't.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” She said, typing again. “The day of the week?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, uh. Sorry, uh.” He paused for a moment, more sheets ruffling, then, finally settling, “What was the question again?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what day of the week it is today?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sunday?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Today is Wednesday my dear.” Janice said, recording his answer on her laptop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s probably do the lorazepam today huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.” Ryan sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard the little cup of pills rattle and Ryan swallowing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Breakfast is in an hour. At 8. Make sure you bring Brendon along too please. We’ve missed you at dinner.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Janice, will do.” Ryan replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard Janice type one more thing before closing her laptop and rolling it out of the room. She shut the light off as well, leaving Brendon fighting to keep his eyes open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next time Brendon woke up, the light was back on, shining straight into his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” Brendon groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. If he squinted hard enough he could see Ryan in his bed, laying flat on his back, unfocused eyes glued to the ceiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi.” Ryan said, voice flat, though it seemed like he was trying to be cheerful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan craned his neck to look at the wall clock. “Almost 8. Was trying to figure out how to wake you without scaring you.” He said quietly. “Sorry about that by the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sat up, looking at the older boy who wouldn't meet his eyes. He couldn't tell if Ryan was referencing last night or his first morning. “It’s- I just- yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan got up, already dressed. “We should go to breakfast. We’re gonna start losing privileges if we miss any more meals.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s go do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were only a couple minutes late for breakfast, but luckily their seats hadn't been taken.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon followed Ryan wordlessly up to the cafeteria line, unable to deny how shaky he was feeling. He took a square of baked oatmeal, which looked safe enough, and a small scoop of the mixed fruit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi Jenny.” Ryan greeted the older woman passing out juice at the end of the service area. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning Ryan!” She exclaimed. “How are we doing today honey?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re doin’.” Ryan smiled gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jenny gave him a sympathetic look before noticing Brendon. “And who do we have here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon.” Brendon supplied with a small smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well good morning to you as well Brendon. Can I give you a cup of juice? Whatcha like?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any of the good stuff?” Ryan asked in a hushed voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh of course honey.” Jenny replied, voice dropping as well. “I usually save the fruit punch for lunch but I can sneak you boys a couple.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She dropped a small cup of red juice onto each of their plates, winking at Ryan as they thanked her and made their way back to their table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know everyone huh?” Brendon asked, trying to make some kind of conversation. Anything that wasn't heavy or weird or insulting. Just normal small talk with your friends. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.” Ryan said, shoving a piece of bacon into his mouth. “I think it’s the innate need old women have to try to fatten me up more than anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon let out something that was supposed to be a laugh, but came out a little wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course Brendon had noticed Ryan’s body. How he was very tall, very skinny, very perfect. Brendon stopped his train of thought there, instead focusing on the way the slimy oatmeal slid down his throat. He could feel it land in his stomach with a hard splash. He felt nauseated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't seem to be eating much either. His fork was cutting up his eggs but his eyes were glued to some unknown thing in the distance, unfocused, like he was barely there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heyo Brendon!” A voice called, snapping both boys out of their trance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon Walker quickly approached their table, Spencer following behind him awkwardly. He slid into the chair across from Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Jon.” Ryan greeted. “Spence.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer at least pretended to not notice Ryan, instead continuing to stay behind Jon, looking out over the cafeteria like he was trying to guard the group.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Brendon smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon seemed to notice the empty space beside him, looking around then up to Spencer. “Sit down you freak.” He laughed, tugging Spencer into a chair by his belt loops. He let out a yelp but complied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how was the bud?” Jon asked, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon paled. “I uh, good, it uh, yeah put me to sleep.” He snuck a look at Ryan who was again staring off into the distance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't sure why he was afraid for Ryan to find out that he ran away to smoke weed with Jon in the courtyard. Granted, it wasn't his intention to do so, it just kinda happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's why the bathroom smelled so dank this morning huh?” Ryan said offhandedly. He laughed, but still didn't quite meet anyone's gaze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You fuckin’ know it Ross. That's that good Cali Wedding Cake. 23% THC, Citrus hybrid. I’ll hook it up sometime, you just say the word.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah Jon, I’ll let you know.” Ryan said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great, great. Hey!” He said, planting his hands on the table. “You guys should come jam with us before lunch. You play anything Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, who’s going?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I can play some guitar.” Brendon added. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just me and Spence so far.” Jon replied. “You gonna sing for us Ross?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer was alternating between looking over his shoulder and picking at his nails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know about that. I think Brendon’s got me beat with the vocals.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Jon asked. “I didn't know you were a singer!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I'm not like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>singer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, y’know. I just, y’know, I can hold my own.” Brendon said, cheeks pink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan scoffed but didn't say anything.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan then.” Jon said, finishing off his toast and standing up. “Meet you guys by the stairs at 11. Don't be late.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See ya.” Ryan said, going back to picking at his food. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon watched Spencer follow Jon as he dumped his tray, and then out of the cafeteria.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What's downstairs?” Brendon asked, eating a piece of melon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Ryan asked, snapping to attention. “Oh, the basement was kind of like a big hobby room but since so many of us are into music we turned it into a practice space. There's a locked room to keep any important equipment in and a few old donated amps to mess around with.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sounds cool.” Brendon replied honestly. It was really cool that they were allowed to make a space for themselves. He imagined it was pretty good for morale too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a while longer, Ryan staring off, every so often his head twitching, causing him to pull on his hair half heartedly. He seemed more apathetic today, Brendon noticed. Less frustrated by whatever intrusions were happening in his head and more just, upset. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you like, okay?” Brendon asked, bracing himself at how stupid the question was. Something was clearly wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't reply for a moment, but his eyes did refocus, snapping down to his tray and then over to Brendon. Brendon had to stop himself from reacting to how empty Ryan’s eyes were. Their eyes were locked but Ryan was looking straight through him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m uh, yeah.” He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for running off, I just- and I didn't mean to run into Jon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan cut him off with a ghost of a laugh. “It’s fine Brendon, don't worry please. I’m sorry for overstepping, that was my fault.” His eyes closed for a second, head snapping before he readjusted himself with a sigh. “You don't have to explain yourself to me, it’s okay.” He smiled sadly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed hard, grateful to not have to explain what happened last night. He wasn't sure if he had the words to. “Thank you.” He said instead, refusing to look at Ryan. He was afraid of what he’d see, if Ryan was mocking him silently or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan cleared his throat, grabbing his tray and standing up. “You have family group today?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I think so.” Brendon blinked. “I think I have every group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you there then.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon just sat there dumbly as Ryan tossed out his tray and left, not sure of what just happened. Not sure of what's happened in the last 12 hours. Did he do something to insult Ryan? Was it bad that he took a joint from Jon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon and Ryan seemed to be okay at least. Spencer and Ryan on the other hand… were well, awkward to say the least. The way Ryan talked about it, he thought they were on better terms. Or at least speaking terms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shrugged to himself and decided he might as well try to get a smoke in before group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was extra sunny at Clover Fields today, reminding Brendon that he was still in Nevada and not some fantasy oasis in the middle of nowhere. Well, he was in the middle of nowhere, but that wasn't the point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made his way to the garden, lighting up. He made a mental note to try to return the lighter back to Jon Walker before lunch, but with the way his memory was, it was anyone's guess if it were to actually happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a seat on the same bench he had last night, trying to soak up as much sun as he could through his baggy hoodie and jeans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> A soft humming pulled Brendon out of his thoughts, instead bringing his attention to a small man with dark hair sitting under the tree in the middle of the space. Pete, Brendon thought his name was. He was curled up under the tree, notebook in hand, writing furiously while humming every now and again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't sure if it was the heat or the urgency of his writing that caused the hoodie to slip down Pete’s shoulders but Brendon was certain that he shouldn't be staring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tops of his shoulders were littered with the deepest scars Brendon has ever seen. While only a couple seemed fresh, he didn't know wounds like that could heal without any type of stitching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His own cuts were neat, albeit quite thick, and almost totally white. Practically straight lines. Pete had huge, rough gashes, like the inside of his skin had healed over and puffed out, pink. He knew he was staring, but it was beautiful in some sick way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It made his heart race, in conjunction with the nicotine and made him deliciously dizzy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need something?” Pete asked, eyes still glued to his notebook. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon jumped, almost dropping his cigarette. “No, sorry I just.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What got your attention? The music or my misery?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Brendon didn't know how to respond, too mortified that he was caught looking at something so personal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m joking.” Pete said, but he didn't laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon tried to laugh but it came out sounding strained. He needed to work on that. He took another drag instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon, right?” Pete asked, finally looking up at him. “You should be careful Brendon. You look at someone the wrong way around here, someone you think you know, and it might just end up getting you killed. Or worse.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed hard, watching Petes eyes flicker behind him. He turned to see Frank and Gerard enter the garden, arms linked. Frank lit Gerard’s smoke then his own before noticing the eyes that were on them. He glanced at Brendon and pointedly scowled at Pete. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Speaking of which.” Pete said, now standing. He shoved his notebook under his arm and pulled his hoodie back up over his shoulders. “I’ll be seeing ya.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made his way past Brendon, slamming his shoulder into Frank’s hard on the way past. “Whoops.” He mused with a cold laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear to fucking god Wentz, one more fucking time.” Frank growled, having to have Gerard hold onto his arm to keep him from following. But Pete was already out the door, leaving Frank seething and Gerard confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Frankie.” Gerard said, brow still furrowed. He pulled Frank down to a nearby bench and held his hand tightly. “Oh, hi Brendon!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Brendon had a similar expression, not totally understanding the interaction. “Hi guys.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank’s forehead was shiny with sweat, his eyes bloodshot and lips pale. He took about a third of his cigarette in one drag, exhaling roughly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is Pete, uh, normally like that?” Brendon asked carefully, watching Frank’s expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A fuckin jackass?” Frank asked. “Yeah he is.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon Frankie, you know it’s not personal!” Gerard exclaimed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank clenched his fist hard, but didn't say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been told I can be quite a dick when I’m going through it too,” Gerard explained, mainly to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank finished his smoke in another two drags, rolling his eyes and stomping it out. “Yeah except he’s always going through it.” he said harshly, lighting another cigarette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed like Brendon was missing a lot today. It was kind of tiring, having no clue what was going on. “Do we know what he’s going through?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank stiffened, his once bouncing leg now perfectly still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn't really talk about it.” Gerard shrugged. “Not even in group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit, group.” Brendon swore, stubbing out his cigarette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ooo, don't be late now!” Gerard laughed as Brendon tore out of the garden towards room 304.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If youve read the original MHAU or stories from clover fields you know whats up </p><p>jonwalkerthebassplayer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah might be a little more than a week between each update lmao promise I'll finish it though. I also recommend listening along to the panic! version of the song played in the middle :)</p><p>TW for uhh light self harm, suicidal thoughts, homophobic slurs, some real negative self talk (just for a min tho)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was nowhere near as late to group as he thought he was going to be. It did, however, look like everyone was already settled. Bob and Dallon shared one of the loveseats. Ryan sat alone on the other. Patrick, Josh, and Tyler were in some of the arm chairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan smiled through him but scooted over, making a space for him to sit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Fiona smiled, stuffing a few files into her embroidered briefcase. “Now that everyone’s here I’m gonna shut the door.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon snuck a glance at Ryan, who was still staring through walls, expression blank. Maybe it wasn't anything he did. He couldn't be sure and felt weird asking. He didn't want to make it about him if it wasn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you joining us permanently, Brendon?” Fiona asked, taking a seat again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhh, I’m not sure. Dr. Uma has me in every group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick scoffed from the other side of the room. “Damn, what did you do? She had me on the same plan when I arrived but only because I called her a cunt.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few patients laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Language please, Patrick.” Fiona corrected him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't even know.” Brendon said with a shrug. “I slammed a door?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's enough to warrant her wrath.” Bob laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Fiona said, regaining control of the conversation. “Well, do you feel like you have anything to work on here, Brendon? How’s your home life?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon paled, all eyes on him. His home life wasn't awful by any means. He had a roof over his head, food on the table, and was overall doing okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered growing up, bringing home his first A- grade to his mom, practically jumping for joy. He was diagnosed with ADHD while he was still in Utah and found it hard to stay interested in his classes. Brendon loved English though, and it was his first period class. For whatever reason he seemed to be more focused in the morning. Maybe it was the coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One semester, he decided to really give it his all, prioritizing the hell out of his English assignments, and it paid off, just like his guidance counselor said it would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only trouble was that he had to do that with all of his classes, which was overwhelming to say the least. Regardless, he was so proud of himself, for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to see the good he had done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still remembers it perfectly, the way his mother shut him down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘That's nice honey, but with a little more effort I'm sure those could be full A’s, or A+’s like your brothers were getting at your age.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It absolutely crushed him. He stopped bothering to tell his mother about his ‘accomplishments’ after that. It wasn't worth it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s sisters, especially Aubrey, were better at noticing the things he did, not that he could ever take any compliments to heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m the youngest of four.” Brendon started. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” Tyler commented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's a lot.” Fiona said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I used to live in Utah.” Brendon began. “But after my dad left, we moved to Nevada.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mormon?” Dallon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Same.” Dallon said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He looked slightly annoyed. “You get caught with the Pastor’s son, or his other son, or his eldest son, and then there's suddenly a problem right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group couldn't help but laugh, but Brendon cringed. A little too close to home. His father was best friends with the head pastor's son. At the time it didn't seem suspicious, until he came out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>was forced out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> rather, that Brendon started to realize how much time his father spent at his house. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His name was Derek and he lived alone. Looking back, it was almost too obvious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about why your dad left at all?” Fiona prompted, pulling Brendon from his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sighed. “He was uh, gay.” He glanced at Dallon who was watching him closely. “Being gay is the worst thing you can be as a Mormon. Next to a non believer, that is. And my father is both. My mom was, uh, disgusted and kicked him out immediately of course. She picked us all up, moved us to Nevada, and joined a new church like it never even happened. He hasn't tried to contact any of us.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh I’m sorry to hear that Brendon.” Fiona began. “I can't imagine what that's like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's okay.” Brendon shrugged. “I had my siblings and stuff. It was fine.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mostly fine at least. He was close with his father. He had a kindness that his mother lacked her entire life. He was never passive aggressive with Brendon, and always had time to listen to the piano pieces Brendon would compose when he was younger. He bought Brendon his first guitar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s mother said he ran off to marry Derek, that they were all </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘holding him back from being the sinner he was born to be,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mother’s words of course, but that’s all Brendon had to go off of. He had tried texting his dad, even sending letters to Derek’s house, and his old house. He never heard back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well that's good at least.” she said with a small smile. “Thank you for sharing with us today, Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon pressed his lips together, avoiding the gaze of the other patients. Pretty pitiful upbringing if Brendon did say so himself. Watching your parent leave because you were so intolerable. He knew that was a dangerous train of thought but he couldn't help entertaining it sometimes. Especially when it was so realistic. Brendon sighed, feeling Ryan’s eyes on him again. Ryan was staring at him carefully, studying his expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about you, Ryan?” Fiona asked, snapping the older boy out of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How have your thoughts been?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan cringed, head snapping to the side more violently than Brendon had seen all day. He wove his fingers through his hair, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch. He looked so small like that, Brendon noted. All curled up into himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Loud.” Ryan replied simply. “Cruel.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry Ryan. Have you talked to him at a-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan braced the couch, tugging his hair hard enough for Brendon to hear the strain. “Please.” He said through gritted teeth. “Not today please. It’s not- Not today please.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for pushing, Ryan. If you change your mind at all, please let us know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded, trying to pull himself back together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't imagine what it was like to be tormented inside your own head like that, at every waking hour. Truly evil enough to drive him to self harm, maybe even worse. Brendon didn't know what specifically got Ryan admitted but he also didn't know how much power that voice held over him. Could it drive Ryan as far as suicide?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bob?” Fiona asked, ignoring his eye roll. “You want to share today?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope.” Bob said, popping the ‘p’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you ever change your mind, we’ll be here to listen.” She said sincerely. Bob scoffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dallon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dallon shrugged. “Not much to share, Doc. I haven't talked to them in years.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing with that though, Dallon?” Fiona asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged again. “I haven't looked back yet. Don't regret cutting those judgemental assholes out of my life. My life’s been a lot more peaceful not getting called a faggot every day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're not getting called a faggot every day?” Bob asked. “Sorry, I’ll try harder.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dallon laughed, elbowing him in the ribs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” Bob laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on now.” Fiona said gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nah, but I’m doing perfectly fine without them.” Dallon said, his smile only slightly forced. “Thank you for asking.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for sharing Dallon. How about you, Tyler?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler’s head snapped up from where he was staring at the carpet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who am I talking with right now?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tyler.” Tyler replied, voice soft. “Nico is close though, might switch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, if you need a moment that's okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had seen enough of Tyler by now to realize that DID must've been the clinical term for multiple personalities. The Tyler he met when he was admitted hardly seemed capable of saying the things he said to Brendon in the hall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard you had a home visit this past weekend?” Fiona asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler shifted back and forth in his seat, almost like he was trying to decide what to say. It was interesting for Brendon to watch, as he blinked hard a few times before going totally still. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They still don't believe us.” Tyler said, voice tighter now, more gravelly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I speaking with Nico?” Fiona asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler, or Nico rather, nodded. Josh stopped fidgeting as well, watching Nico closely. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don't you get enough attention Tyler? Do you really need more?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> They don't understand.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry to hear that, Nico. It can be hard for some people to understand.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it shouldn't be!” Nico snapped. “I understood when it was explained to me, far before I knew about the others, back when I thought I was the only one in here. When I ended up meeting them, it made perfect sense. Why is it so hard for everyone else?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe because they raised you?” Fiona suggested. “Change is so scary for so many-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe they want some other justification as to why their kid’s a fuck up.” Josh took Tyler’s sleeve, tugging lightly. Nico didn't react. “It’s much easier to say your kid’s a liar than to say he’s got a mental disorder. Much easier to explain that we beat up a kid because we have anger issues and not because it was an alter. They're lazy and selfish.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it helpful at all, understanding why they're that way?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I suppose.” Nico huffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I think you’ve been doing great.” Fiona said, glancing around the room, causing some of the other patients to nod. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Nico replied, sitting back on his hands. “We’re done for now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's okay, thank you for sharing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the group went by pretty quickly after that. Josh didn't say anything of course, and the rest of the time was spent going over good communication skills and then it devolved into some small talk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was kind of nice, Brendon thought, getting to know some of the other patients without having to put the work in himself. It sounded kind of cheap, but people were learning about him in the same way. That's how it was at his last program too. Watch someone air out their problems, then have a conversation with them to their face, pretending they didn't already know everything eating them up inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He spent some of the time watching Ryan as well. Ryan was fascinating and delicate and just unlike anyone Brendon had ever met. He was silent for the most part, aside from a few tics here and there. Brendon had been watching him tug on his hair, tic, then sigh for a good 20 minutes probably. He wondered if Ryan knew it was rhythmic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to do something, anything to try to ease Ryan’s pain, give him some type of comfort. Ryan seemed to like when Brendon sang, but after how the day had been, he wasn't so sure anymore. Everything felt weird. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Brendon?” Tyler asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of the other patients had filed out the room, going back to their rooms or out for a smoke before their next group. Fiona was long gone, back to her office. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan got up as well, almost losing his balance on the way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey.” Brendon said, glancing at Ryan nervously. He secretly hoped Ryan would stick around in case he got snapped at again, but that didn't seem likely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Meet you by the stairs in 10.” Ryan said quietly, leaving him with Tyler. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I just wanted to apologize for how we were the other day.” He said, tugging his sleeves over his hands anxiously. “It's not an excuse, but it can be hard integrating a new alter that we know nothing about. We don't even know their name yet, but we’re working on making sure we can communicate with them better, and hopefully prevent anything like that in the future.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was taken aback by Tyler’s emotional maturity. He knew too many adults that couldn't give an apology like that. “I forgive you.” Brendon said with a cautious smile. “I don't really, like, know much about that y’know? But I appreciate it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for understanding, Brendon. I should, uh, go, but thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded in response, watching Tyler meet up with Josh in the hallway. Josh didn't say anything, just squeezed his shoulder and gave Brendon a small smile through the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span> ~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The basement was nicer than Brendon expected. They had to have Priscilla come with them to make sure they didn't get up to any mischief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s like I’m not even here.” Priscilla said, curling up on one of the couches with her phone. “As long as I don't hear anything about drugs, or sex, or running away.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was bigger than Brendon expected too, about as big as the front desk area, with no desk of course. There was a full kit in the corner that Spencer went to immediately, spinning a drumstick around his fingers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a couple of cheap looking amps, all plugged in and ready to go. No pedals or anything fancy, but Brendon didn't mind and it didn't seem like Jon or Ryan did either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan picked up a standard electric fender, plugging it in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is Pete’s” Jon said offhandedly, pulling a nice bass onto his body. “But he shouldn't mind.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we playing?” Ryan asked, plugging a microphone into his amp for Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had to lower the stand a good few inches for it to reach his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Round here?’” Jon asked. “You know that song Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Counting Crows? Uh, I think so. There's a weird bridge right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Extra weird without pedals.” Ryan said, tuning up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can just freestyle if you want for that part.” Jon suggested, using Ryan’s notes to tune his own instrument. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we can keep up.” Spencer said. “We usually add our own twist anyways.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will try my best.” Brendon smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan started, playing the opening notes. The tension he had been holding all day released from his shoulders, his expression easing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Brendon began. “</span><em><span>Step out the front door like a ghost, Into the fog where no one notices, The contrast of white on white.</span></em><span>” He continued. “</span><em><span>In between the moon and you, The angels get a better view, Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.</span></em> <em><span>I walk in the air between the rain, Through myself and back again, Where? I don't know. Maria says she's dying, Through the door I hear her crying. Why? I don't know.</span></em><span>” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan had a small smile on his face, making Brendon’s heart skip. He looked so in his element there, like the only thing in his head were the upcoming notes. Brendon knew Ryan was far too talented to have to look at his hands for such a simple riff, but he did anyway, carefully moving his fingers over the frets. Spencer joined in as Brendon started the chorus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Round here, we always stand up straight. Round here, something radiates.</span></em> <em><span>Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand, She said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis.</span></em><span>” </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan was nodding along as the drums came in fully. Jon was moving around the small practice space comfortably. He had a good presence, and clearly had experience playing live. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land, Just like she's walking on a wire in the circus.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan met his eyes for a brief moment, almost making Brendon stumble on his words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“</span><em><span>She parks her car outside of my house and takes her clothes off, Says she's close to understanding Jesus.</span></em> <em><span>She knows she's just a little misunderstood. She has trouble acting normal when she's nervous.”</span></em></p><p> </p><p><span>Brendon went into the next chorus. “</span><em><span>Round here, we're carving out our names. Round here, we all look the same. Round here, we talk just like lions.</span></em> <em><span>But we sacrifice like lambs, Round here she's slipping through my hands.” </span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something about the way Ryan played the chorus that made it different, his own touch of heartbreak. He wanted to use that to his advantage when he started improvising.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, sleeping children better run like the wind, Out of the lightning dream. Mama's little baby better get herself in, Out of the lightning.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon could feel his throat constricting at what he thought to sing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>She says ‘it's only in my head.’  She says ‘Shhh, I know it's only in my head’. She said ‘did you think that you were dreaming?’ I said ‘no’. ‘Did you think that you were dreaming?’ I said ‘no’. ‘Did you think that you were dreaming?’ I said ‘sometimes I don't know’.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He risked a glance at Ryan who was staring into the distance, eyes glazed and shining, smile no longer present. Somehow, though, he was able to still beautifully improvise a bridge, making Brendon's heart race. He wasn't done yet, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>There's a girl on the car out in the parking lot,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he began, the whole mood shifted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>And she says ‘come on, hey man, come on just take a shot.' She says 'Can't you see me? Can't you see me? Can't you see my walls are tumbling down? Can't you see my walls are crumbling down? Can't you see my sun stopped spinning around? Can't you see the sky turn black and brown? Can't you see the moon is flashing around? Can't you see me? Can't you see me? Can't you see me?’ No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon forced himself to hold it together. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>There's a girl in the car out in the parking lot. She says ‘man why don't you take a shot, Can't you see my walls are crumbling?’ Then she looks up at the building, Says ‘I’m thinking of jumping’, She says she's tired of life, She must be tired of something, Round here,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he belted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>She's always on my mind. Round here, hey man, we’ve got lots of time. Round here, we're never sent to bed early, and nobody makes us wait. Round here, we stay up very, very, very, very late. I can't see nothing-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brendon cursed under his breath as his voice cracked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “</span>
  <em>
    <span>-nothing round here. So will you catch if I'm falling? Will you catch me if I'm falling? Will you catch me cause I'm falling down on you,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he inhaled sharply, pulling himself together as the tempo slowed again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I said I'm under the gun round here. Man, I said I'm under the gun round here, And I can't see nothing- Nothing round here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music slowed to a stop, leaving Brendon in a deafening silence. He had been working on those lyrics independently for a little while but never really found a use for them. It was only a sick coincidence that it fit the situation so well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.” Jon and Ryan said in unison. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s eyes were unfocused again, but he wasn't twitching at all. He had a grim expression, holding the guitar tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer was watching Ryan as well, flipping the drum stick anxiously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn't know you could sing like that.” Jon said, breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thanks.” Brendon said shyly. “I, yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn we gotta have you around more often, huh guys?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Ryan asked, snapping to attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer didn't say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, not all at once.” Jon said, rolling his eyes. “Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>think we should keep you, Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks.” Brendon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, sorry.” Ryan blushed. “Of course I-” He twitched hard. “Of course we’ll keep you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer scoffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” Jon said, clearly trying to ease whatever tension Spencer just created. “Another song? Anyone?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They played a few more covers together before lunch. Ryan seemed to be in his head a lot more after ‘Round Here’, though it did nothing to impede his playing. It was honestly quite impressive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon knew when he was in his head about something, his voice could come out flat and emotionless, often not doing the song justice, but Ryan did the opposite. It was like him being on autopilot added something unique. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it wasn't even autopilot, maybe it was just how Ryan played. It made him want to hear more, just watch him play for as long as he could.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't really see Ryan at all after their little jam session. He mentioned having to stop and talk to his doctor, but he wasn't in group, and not in their room either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s probably fine.” Frank said at dinner, snapping his plastic fork into a bunch of tiny pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Probably.” Brendon replied, unable to tell Frank the last time they couldn't find Ryan he was bleeding on the bathroom floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank shrugged in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dinner was pizza and fries, not an option for Brendon at all. He could feel the nurses watching him, taking their notes, but it wasn't worth the guilt. And it wouldn't be worth experiencing it a second time in the bathroom later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard was over at the lunch line, leaning over the counter and talking seriously to one of the cooks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon flicked a stray piece of plastic back at Frank, who added it to the pile he was making. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s Spencer’s deal?” Brendon asked, suddenly reminded of his strange behavior at practice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like, why is he here?” Frank asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like, why does he give me death stares.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Frank said with a laugh. “Probably because Ryan likes you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan what?” Brendon asked, heart stopping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I don't know.” Frank shrugged. “I just mean, he keeps to himself. Wouldn't even look at Spencer when he first got here and now you guys are all buddy buddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said. That definitely made sense. Who knew what happened with them in the past though. It had to have been awkward to reconnect with your old best friend in a hospital. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ay yo Frankie!” Gerard called, getting Frank’s attention as well as everyone else's. Frank rolled his eyes fondly as Gerard excitedly waved him over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should take care of that.” He laughed. “Group smoke after dinner though. See you there?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah.” Brendon replied, watching Frank join Gerard up at the front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't surprised to see Ryan wasn't outside. He didn't even know if Ryan smoked, but he was disappointed nonetheless. Brendon even made sure to check their room, one last time, just in case something had gone terribly wrong, but the room was just how he left it. No sign of Ryan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janis was out as well, keeping an eye on the group. Nothing happened, that Brendon was aware of at least. Maybe she was making sure Frank wasn't trying to get more pills. The withdrawals really seemed to be doing a number on him. He smiled, but the circles were still under his eyes, he was still shivering in the burning heat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Brendon!” Frank waved him over to where he and Gerard were sitting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were perched on one of the stone benches. Gerard was talking quietly to Patrick about something while Pete sat against the tree, staring off into space, only blinking to take a drag.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Brendon pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and lit up as he sat next to Frank. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi!” Gerard greeted, digging through his baggy pockets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Brendon replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You haven't seen Mikey, right?” Gerard asked. Brendon glanced at Frank, whose eyes were glued to the ground. He saw him swallow hard, taking a long pull of his cigarette. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not since I saw you at dinner 15 minutes ago.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah.” Gerard said, his brows coming together. “The fucker has my lighter. Do you have a lighter?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, tossing him his, or Jon’s, green lighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey this is the same color as the one he stole. You sure you haven't seen Mikey?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you stop talking about Mikey for like, ten seconds for fucks sake?” Pete exclaimed, eyes hard and unreadable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard visibly bristled, his mood switching quicker than Brendon thought was possible. “Keep my brother’s name out of your mouth, Wentz.” He growled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You weren't the only one affected, Gerard.” Pete said, voice rising. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know what you mean.” Gerard said, his tone cold and hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“Yes you fucking do, Gerard, </span><em><span>you’re </span></em><span>the one who</span> <span>fucking-”  Patrick lunged forward to clap a hand over Pete’s mouth. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Patrick hissed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I fucking what?” Gerard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee, don't.” Frank said, pulling on his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is going on?” Janis asked. “Is it a full moon or something? Jesus.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Last night or something, actually.” Jon said, apparently outside now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janis disregarded him. “Not another word Pete, please. You’re better than that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete wrenched Patrick’s hand off his mouth. Brendon watched him stub his cigarette out unsubtly on the back of his calf. He didn't flinch but Patrick did. “It’s not fucking fair.” Pete said angrily. “Why does he get to forget and I don't?” He yelled, voice cracking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Janis began, holding an arm out. Pete reluctantly got up, Patrick following him and Janis back inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did I get to forget?” Gerard asked, brows together. He had this expression that Brendon had come to know as his ‘trying to remember’ face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank pushed Gerard’s messy red hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You told me to remind you to write down that idea you had for that comic.” Frank said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah, shit.” he said, shoving his cigarette between Frank’s fingers and running out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank let out a breath of smoke, shaking his head. “He forgets a lot of normal stuff too.” He explained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. “So, they knew each other?” he asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“From what I’ve gathered.” Frank sighed. “Pete refuses to talk about anything even closely relating to Mikey, and Gerard’s information isn't always… correct. But apparently, Pete lived in Jersey for a while when his family moved there for work. I don't know the details but something definitely happened.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon replied. “And he knows what Gerard did?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I assume so at this point.” Frank said. “It’s sad man, sometimes Gerard will just vent to me about how he doesn't know what he did to make Pete hate him so much.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is Gerard’s hypnotherapy to help him remember or to help him forget?” Brendon asked, taking drag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Debatable.” Frank grumbled, finishing his cigarette and starting on Gerard’s. “They’re trying to get him to remember, but who knows what Linz is fucking doing.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded in response. They finished their cigarettes in silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he returned to his room later that night, Ryan was there, rooting through his dresser. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You disappeared for a while, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't respond, only letting out a frustrated sigh as he dug deeper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can borrow another long sleeve if you need to.” Brendon offered quietly, sitting on his own bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And ruin more of your nice clothes?” Ryan asked, standing up to look at Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked absolutely exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes and was looking especially pale. He was actually holding Brendon’s gaze though, so that was a step in the right direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Brendon asked. “Did something happen? Did I-” he stopped himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan sighed, sitting down on his own bed. He scooted back and crossed his legs, pulling his blanket onto his lap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a medical mystery, you know that Brendon?” Ryan’s tone was harsh, but not directed at him. “I was diagnosed schizophrenic at 14. If I was prescribed meds for it, I never saw them. Maybe my parents didn't care to pick them up, maybe my mom took them. Doesn't matter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a deep breath, watching Ryan closely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Every doctor I saw said something different. I was diagnosed with bipolar, depression, anxiety, dissociative amnesia, depersonalization, derealization, PTSD- at least they got that one right for sure. They even thought I might have some kind of personality disorder. And yet, no one can explain why I can</span>
  <em>
    <span> fucking hear him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  Ryan growled, eyes now alight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, I’m sorry-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't.” Ryan said, stopping for a moment to take a deep breath. “I’ve never had schizophrenia. The doctor that diagnosed me </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn't even a real doctor</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was deemed a false diagnosis after being assessed by </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least</span>
  </em>
  <span> four doctors. I’ve been in experimental medical trials, I've had electroconvulsive therapy, and that was just in the past two years.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't know what to say, and it didn't seem like Ryan was done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My head isn't quiet for more than 5 minutes. I hear him in my sleep. He’s only quiet when I bleed. He wants me fucking dead, Brendon, and I am so </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”  Ryan said, voice breaking, more emotion coming out than intended. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't just sit there, he couldn't. He was on Ryan’s bed before he could worry about the consequences. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan collapsed against his chest immediately, grabbing tightly onto Brendon’s hoodie and sobbing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit Ry,” Brendon whispered, his arms tightly around Ryan’s shoulders. He smoothed his hair down, trying anything to soothe his roommate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am so, so,</span>
  <em>
    <span> so tired </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brendon.” Ryan said into his chest, sucking in a deep breath. “Please, just let me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I can't keep doing this, I can't do this anymore, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can't-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon held him tighter, running his fingers through Ryan’s tangled hair as gently as he could, lightly rubbing his scalp. Ryan whimpered between sobs, clearly sensitive from all the hair pulling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't tell Ryan it was going to be okay. It would be insulting. He knew that. He couldn't honestly say if this would ever stop for Ryan. Brendon knew Ryan knew it too, so he settled for softly shushing the older boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what he says?” Ryan asked into Brendon’s chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You pathetic son of a bitch, I told you you would fuckin’ amount to nothing.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan spit, words full of hatred. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Won't you just put yourself out of your misery already? No one would miss you. You pushed away everyone that could, or got them killed, or both, you selfish piece of shit.’</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s words dissolved into tears again, pulling Brendon as close as he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not true.” Brendon said quietly, pulling the blanket around both of them, and holding Ryan just as close, swaying slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan tried to scoff, but it got lost between his jagged breaths.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't know if it would help, or hurt, but he had to do something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he know who you are? Does he laugh, just to know What he has?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brendon sang, causing Ryan to cry even harder. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Does he know not to talk, About your dad? Does he know when you're sad?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan let out a choked sob, his whole body shaking hard. Brendon wiped away the tears the best he could from the angle he was at, smoothing Ryan’s hair back and trying to make sure he could breathe okay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you know, Who you are? Do you laugh, Just to think, What I lack?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brendon continued. Ryan shook his head, seeming to not notice himself doing so. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Does his love make your head spin? Does his love make your head spin?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Ryan did end up falling asleep eventually. His sniffling evened out into deep breaths, and Brendon couldn't help but sigh in relief. He hoped Ryan could get some rest, even if his dreams were invaded by the voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon still couldn't help but wonder what changed. Maybe nothing, but ever since he let Ryan touch his hair and ran out of the room, something was different. He didn't think it was too out of the realm of possibilities that he could've done something to cause problems. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't seem to have a problem with him on his bed like this, or holding him while he cried. Regardless, it wasn't Brendon’s place to assume. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was lucky they were on Ryan’s bed however, otherwise Brendon might not have heard Spencer in the next room refusing his night meds. Brendon had just enough time to slip out from underneath Ryan, turn off the light, and hop into his own bed before a nurse knocked lightly and let himself in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard the med cart wheel across the linoleum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Night meds.” He said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard Ryan stir awake, the sound of him drinking as much water as he could. He also heard the nurse leave, and the door shutting with a click. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Brendon rolled back over, Ryan was looking at him in the darkness, eyes wide with a kind of childlike innocence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna come back.” Brendon said quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I tell you something?” Ryan asked, eyes downcast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Brendon said, swallowing hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I, uh.” Ryan began, running a hand through his hair. “I don't really let people get close, y’know? It tends to be more damaging, than anything else. I'm friendly with people, but don't have any good friends y’know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I certainly don't let anyone close enough to start like, actually caring about me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wanted to call bullshit on that. That wasn't really something Ryan could control anyways. He could see Jon and Spencer cared about him, the nurses cared about him, some of the younger patients even looked at him as a good example. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if I start to truly care about anyone, more than just enjoy being around them, it’s only another thing for my brain to torture me with.” Ryan sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded again, not sure how to respond. Ryan was too kind to not care about his friends, the people around him, but maybe he had to convince himself of that to protect himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if,” Brendon began selfishly. “I want to care about you anyway?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan took a deep breath, tugging on his hair a couple of times, carefully choosing his words. “What I want doesn't matter here, Brendon. That’s not something I know how to handle. And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to figure it out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, more to himself than anything. He settled back into his mattress, pulling his blankets tight over his shoulders. “Goodnight Ryan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight Brendon.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>songs mentioned are Round Here by Counting Crows and You Dont Know How Lucky You Are by Keaton Henson. easter egg for anyone who read the original MHAU</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>usual TWs active for the most part</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <b>CHAPTER 6</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was called out of breakfast early to meet with Dr. Uma. Not early enough though, unfortunately. He had eaten a whole bowl of cereal and a piece of fruit. He felt bloated, like his stomach was stretching farther than his skin could manage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked sleep deprived herself, leaning over a steaming cup of coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sank into the chair in front of her desk and picked at the hole forming in the seam of his sweatpants. He thought about tucking his knees into his hoodie, but figured it might look suspicious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Brendon. How was breakfast?” She asked, something in her tone putting Brendon on edge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, it was fine.” he answered cautiously. “Just cheerios, nothing special.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You usually only meet with me once a week, don’t worry, I just need to talk with you about something.” Dr. Uma explained, which did nothing to calm Brendon’s nerves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited for her to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I’ve been talking with a couple other of our clinicians here.” She said, putting her cup down and folding her hands across her lap. “We think it might be a good idea to have you switch rooms, at least for a little while.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon’s eyes widened. “Why-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma held up a hand, silencing him. “You haven't done anything wrong, we just think it may be a little more beneficial in terms of progress.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon blinked at her, fists clenched. “You can't be serious.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Deadly.” She replied. “It’s just to see if you’re more receptive in a different setting. Besides, you’re not going very far, just next door with Spencer.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon asked again. “Spencer hates me, who’s idea was that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not stupid Brendon.” Dr. Uma said, rolling her eyes and taking a sip of coffee. “I do actually know what goes on around here. Not to mention, like I’ve said, I have been talking with his clinician as well. I have no reason to believe you won't get along.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re diluted.” Brendon snapped back, rolling his eyes as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you considered that this might not just be all about </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Brendon?” Dr. Uma asked in a raised voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon pressed his lips together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the hell could it be about then? And what would forcing a friendship with Spencer do for his ‘recovery’? She just dropped a fucking bomb at 8:15 in the morning and expected his cooperation? He was doing just fine with Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Granted, Ryan did just confess to wanting nothing to do with him last night. He couldn't think about that though, it wasn't time, and it made Brendon’s chest ache. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Dr. Uma said. “You’ll move your stuff this morning, before you attend group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stood up wordlessly, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Brendon spit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Uma didn't even flinch. “See you on Tuesday, Brendon.” she said, eyeing the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes, stomping out of the office with a huff. What the fuck was her problem? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon made his way back to his room, slamming the door behind him. Breakfast would be over soon and he would have to move fast if he wanted to get moved in time for the smoke break before groups. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Brendon didn't want to move. Wasn't it enough that he tried to open up the tiniest bit to Ryan? Tried to have something- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was something he really couldn't entertain. There was no ‘something’ for him and Ryan and he was so stupid for thinking that might be possible. He was nothing. Nothing worth fighting for at least, that much was clear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Brendon swore, not being able to stop the tears from escaping from his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he was too numb to cry about how pathetic he was. He had gotten all of that out of his system years ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered crying with his head half in the toilet, the first time he made himself purge. He couldn't even succeed at starving himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't even slit his wrists right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't hear the door open, didn't see Ryan’s shadow in the doorway. He didn't see him shut the door and cross the room, stopping to kneel in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay? Did something happen?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” Brendon said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “It's nothing, not important.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s head twitched but he didn't seem to notice. “Are you sure?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon scoffed. “Very sure.” And very obviously not important. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something crossed Ryan’s expression that Brendon had never seen before. It almost looked like guilt, but it was gone as fast as it came, leaving Brendon confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded gently and stepped back, taking a seat on his bed. He ran his hands down his pants anxiously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re moving me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh-” Ryan cut himself off to twitch hard and pull roughly on his hair. “Sorry. Are you going far?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wiped the remaining moisture from his face and took a sip of water from the cup sitting on his bedside table. “Next door with Spencer.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Ryan said again, though this time, his whole body lurched. He curled in on himself, and hit his forehead with the heel of his palm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon picked at the edge of his styrofoam cup, unsure how to help in a way that wouldn't show he was ‘caring too much’. Instead, he waited for Ryan to take a deep breath, uncurl, and compose himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan had a strange expression, something fearful and small. “Were they worried?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About what?” Brendon asked, brows coming together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About me hurting you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was taken aback and unsure how to answer. Ryan hardly seemed like any kind of threat, he hadn't done anything to make Brendon think he was dangerous to anyone but himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that something I should worry about?” He asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan smiled sadly, eyes glazed over. “Of course Brendon. I hurt everyone. I even make them hurt themselves. I even get them killed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon asked. “Ryan, you’re scaring me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan twitched hard, head snapping violent to the side. “Fuck!” he snapped, making Brendon jump. “Brendon, I should-” He looked to the door, studying it for a moment. “Maybe you should go, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve said too much.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- okay, yeah.” Brendon said. “I’m just gonna get my stuff, okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded but wouldn't look in Brendon’s direction. He made his way to the bathroom and closed the door hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan stayed in the bathroom until Brendon packed up and left. He didn't hear any noise coming from inside and almost forgot he was there. Almost. He couldn't forget the strange interaction he was just a part of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room was empty when Brendon moved next door. The open bed was on the same side as his last room, meaning the only thing separating him and Ryan was a thin sheet of drywall. Lovely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least Brendon was pretty sure whatever was happening with Ryan was far deeper than whatever happened between them. It hardly made him feel better, but it was enough to still his shaking hands and he put his clothes into his new dresser. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer’s side of the room was far more decorated than Ryan’s was. They weren't allowed to have anything on the walls but he had a few posters on top of his dresser, propped up like they were family photos. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were also a stack of books on the dresser. A few classics, a few mystery looking novels that Brendon didn't recognise, and a few journals. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer also had a blue comforter and matching pillow cases which did a lot to brighten up the dull, hospital-esque room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh….. </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Spencer said, apparently behind Brendon now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He jumped a little, still on edge. “Uh, yeah, hi.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Spencer asked simply, with a scowl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know.” Brendon shrugged, turning to face the other boy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't know?”  Spencer asked, taking off his sweater and throwing it onto his bed. He kept his distance from Brendon, watching him closely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really don't.” Brendon said again. “She wouldn't tell me anything. She said it wasn't about me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That seemed to answer Spencer’s question, considering the way the scowl returned to his face. “Great.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded awkwardly and Spencer lingered, shifting back and forth. “You gonna keep your mouth shut if you happen to see anything?” Spencer asked vaguely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh….” Brendon began, not really sure what he was alluding to. “As long as it doesn't involve me?” he tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Spencer replied more sincerely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A- are you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer cocked an eyebrow at him, seemingly not expecting to be met with the same question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was in the self esteem, eating disorder, whatever the hell it was called group with Spencer anyways, but he didn't need Spencer talking shit if he ever heard Brendon purging, or noticed him skipping meals. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Spencer said, eyeing him again before heading back out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was surprised, to say the least, to see that Ryan actually showed up for family group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was curled up in one of the single arm chairs, one hand threaded through his hair. He offered Brendon a small smile as Brendon sat down a few chairs away, but made no other effort to interact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't blame him. He decided to sit in one of the single chairs as well. He didn't really have the mental energy to deal with interacting with anyone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn't take long for Dr. D and the rest of the patients to file in. Brendon didn't really have much interest in participating in group. He noticed when Dr. D began, but kind of spaced out after that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon genuinely didn't know how to feel about the events with Ryan that led up to that point. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could do something to help. Ryan seemed to like it when he sang, and he seemed to calm down when Brendon held him, just for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt so hopeless to Brendon, and he didn't know why it mattered so much. He barely knew the kid, what did it matter if he could help him or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sighed and pulled his sleeves over his hands. There was just something about Ryan that drew him in. Something that made him want to take the pain away, see what he was like underneath it all. He wanted to see Ryan not in pain. He just wanted to know Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about you Ryan?” Dr. D asked, making Brendon snap to attention at the mention of Ryan’s name. Wow he was pathetic. “How are you doing?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s eyes refocused but he didn't meet Dr. D’s eyes. “I- I don't know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D’s brows came together in concern. “What do you mean, Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Something happened, I can't explain.” He said, eyes darting halfway to Brendon before falling to the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s stomach lurched. Maybe he overstepped by holding Ryan when he cried. Maybe he shouldn't have let Ryan tell him all those things last night. He felt like he was going to be sick. He needed to get out of there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need the bathroom.” Brendon said, standing up and walking out before anyone could protest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went straight for the courtyard and sat down under the tree, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and lighting up. The first inhale was always his favorite, nicotine going straight to his brain, making him dizzy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't know what to do with the dread that settled in his stomach, making him feel too full and too sick. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>happen. Something that he didn't want to say in front of Brendon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It reminded him of the way he felt after finishing a video game that ripped his heart out when he was 15. It was a strange comparison, but the feeling was reminiscent of the same type of soul crushing disappointment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There wasn't anything he could do or change. He couldn't just ignore the feeling like he did when he finished the game. He couldn't move on to something else, or do something to distract himself, because it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, making him feel that way. You cant really escape from yourself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What about him was so abhorrent to Ryan? Maybe if he knew what it was he could fix it. Instead, he took another, deeper drag of his cigarette, letting it burn his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rolled up his sleeve and inspected the bruise he gave himself two nights ago. It was a pretty shade of purple. He held the end of his cigarette next to it, just enough to feel the heat. The temptation was almost too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stayed like that for a moment, moving the cigarette just close enough to feel the burn, then pulling back. It reminded Brendon of setting leaves on fire with a magnifying glass in his driveway as a kid. He wanted to catch on fire too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, Brendon looked up, feeling eyes on him. Ryan had entered the courtyard, standing quietly at the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hi.” Brendon said, rolling his sleeve back down. It didn't seem like enough time had passed for group to be over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can uh- I can go if you want to be alone.” Ryan stuttered out. He seemed to be trying hard to hold eye contact with Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” Brendon said as he took another drag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I sit?” Ryan asked, words coming out forced and awkward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Brendon said against his better judgment, not expecting Ryan to cross the courtyard and sit right next to him under the tree. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D’you have an extra cigarette?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You come all the way out here just to bum a smoke off me?” Brendon snorted humorlessly. Nevertheless, he handed Ryan the lighter and pack. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Ryan said, lighting one and handing the pack back, lighter tucked neatly inside. Brendon cursed himself, his heart skipping as Ryan’s fingers brushed against his in the process. “I’m sorry if I said something. That wasn't my intention.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon blinked. Ryan was sorry if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>said something? Brendon was out there, over thinking everything he’s ever said to this kid, anything that could’ve caused this overwhelming stress he was going through, but Ryan needed to apologize? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he wanted was to have some kind of conversation about it, whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>it </span>
  </em>
  <span>was, to see if they could work through it. So Brendon could apologize and they could move on and Brendon could not do whatever he did wrong again.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if that wasn't-” Ryan began. “I- this is really hard for me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Ryan didn't have to interact with him if it was that difficult for him. He didn't understand, but he tried to respect Ryan enough to not push him about it. Clearly, there was something wrong with him. “You don't owe me anything Ryan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point.” Ryan said, taking a long drag. He exhaled slowly and watched as the wind stole hits, the cigarette burning down slowly in his fingers. “You make me want to fail.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon asked, sitting up to look at the older boy better. “What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shook his head, looking off toward the flowers. “I shouldn't be here, but I don't know what's worse.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I really that intolerable?” Brendon asked, unable to stop the anger slipping into his voice. “If it’s that bad Ryan, you don't need to force yourself to entertain me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan flinched but didn't meet his eyes. “I’m doing it again, Brendon. I’m sorry. It isn't like that at all, I just- you’re not doing anything wrong, I’m sorry.” He stood up, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray. “It's not that I- I’m not forcing myself to do anything, I’m trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep </span>
  </em>
  <span>myself from doing something. Fuck, I can't, I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon let out a frustrated sigh as Ryan stormed out of the garden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Honestly, what the fuck? He ran a hand through his hair angrily.  Brendon had never been so confused, especially about what he was supposed to be feeling. His heart had settled back into it’s disappointed state, dragging his mindset down with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he wasn't doing anything wrong, then what was going on? He needed to just corner Ryan at this point, have a real conversation where he wasn't running away. Where neither of them was running away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took out another smoke, tossing the old butt into the gravel. He only had two left. He briefly considered finishing Ryan’s half smoked one before thinking better of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would have to call Aubrey. She would probably bring him some. Visiting days were Sunday, which were soon enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank entered the courtyard with Gerard close behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know Frank, I think dogs have souls.” Gerard said, lighting up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No one’s disagreeing with you.” Frank laughed, lighting his own. “I just think it's not fair that they don't get an afterlife.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don't get an afterlife.” Gerard frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but we don't </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve </span>
  </em>
  <span>one. Dogs deserve an afterlife.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right.” Gerard shrugged, sitting at one of the benches across from Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think, Brendon?” Frank asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do dogs have souls?” Frank asked like it was the most obvious question in the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I hope they do.” Brendon said, brows coming together. He wasn't expecting to be thrust into such a conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, is something wrong?” Gerard asked, noticing Brendon’s pout. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon hesitated for a moment. It wasn't his place to be airing out Ryan’s dirty laundry but he wasn't sure how much he could get done on his own at that point. He needed help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sighed. “Have you noticed Ryan’s been acting really weird?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard shrugged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now that you mention it, yeah, he’s seemed a little off.” Frank said. “Why do you ask?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I’m worried I did something, but he won't talk to me about it, he’s being really weird and cryptic saying he’s ‘said too much’ or whatever.” Brendon explained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds paranoid.” Frank said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Gerard added. “I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you do something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his cigarette between his fingers, watching as the ash fell off and blew away. He wasn't sure how to explain without outing Ryan for cutting himself. Or for everything he told Brendon about his diagnosis. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Brendon said instead. “I don't uh, like being touched without my permission y’know? There was one time he did that and I kind of snapped at him. But last night, he opened up about some dark shit, man. He was really upset.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, he opened up?” Frank asked. “We’ve known him for months and we still don't know anything about why he’s here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not that it’s our business.” Gerard said, elbowing Frank in the side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, but there are no rumors or anything.” Frank said, giving Brendon a look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No rumors like there were about Gerard, he meant. It wasn't like everyone was pretending to not know his story, they just truly didn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about Spencer?” Brendon asked. “He knew him before.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Frank shrugged. “Good luck getting that information though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks.” Brendon replied, rolling his eyes. Frank was right though. The kid hated his guts, he had no reason to tell him anything about Ryan. Especially if he was jealous about Ryan talking to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe Jon knows.” Gerard tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean him and Spencer </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>sleeping together.” Gerard said, taking a long drag. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span><em>?”</em> Brendon asked. They did a good fucking job hiding it. Brendon considered himself pretty good at noticing those things, but he didn't suspect Jon and Spencer at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good goin’ G.” Frank snorted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Gerard exclaimed, shoving Frank. “He hung out with them, I thought he knew by now!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Definitely didn't know that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He gives him coke too!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gerard!” Frank exclaimed more seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops.” He giggled, though it came out muffled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the info guys.” Brendon said, getting up and dropping his cigarette butt into the ashtray. It was far more than he bargained for, but he couldn't bring himself to complain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon found his way to Jon’s room. He figured they could talk a little before family group finished up and they had to go to lunch. He knocked a couple times and leaned against the doorframe, waiting for a response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't expect Pete to open the door, his eyes narrowing on Brendon. “What do you want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-” Brendon began, realizing Gerard must’ve given him the wrong room. He hoped he was having a good laugh wherever he was, the bastard. “Is Jon here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete rolled his eyes, but moved aside, letting Brendon through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moved hesitantly, like he wasn't sure Pete was being serious. He half expected the door to slam in his face and Pete laughing at him from the other side, but he didn't do that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey B.” Jon said as Brendon entered the room fully. Pete shut the door and leaned against it, watching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey.” Brendon said and glanced uneasily at Pete. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon said, looking up from the bass he was fiddling with. He looked at Pete. “Hear that Wentz? Time for you to fuck off.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha. Ha.” Pete said and Jon couldn't help but laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bob’s at family anyways. Pat’s probably alone.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete’s eyes went wide, ears turning red. “Shut up.” He said, hurrying out the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh?” Brendon began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it.” Jon said. He put the bass down and folded his legs on his bed. His comforter looked like a tapestry, a big moon in the center with blue sun rays coming out from around it. The border was alternating moon phases. “You can sit. What Pete doesn't know won't hurt him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon inspected Pete’s nicely made bed. He had pillows and blankets from home too, but not as flashy as Jon’s. “Yeah, he might hurt </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>though.” He said but sat down anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon laughed, easing Brendon’s nerves just slightly. He knew what he was doing wasn't necessarily, well, good. He was snooping, that's what was what he was doing. But if Ryan wasn't going to help him fix this, what else was he supposed to do? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s up, Brendon?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you noticed Ryan’s been acting weird? Like really weird?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed. “I- yes I have.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He opened up to me last night. Like a lot. Frank and G were saying he doesn't really do that. Do you know anything about him, like what he’s going through?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon raised an eyebrow, though it seemed like it was mostly to himself. “He has never talked to me about it in detail, no.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn't seem like he was finished. “But?” Brendon prompted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer talks. Not that Ryan really explained much to him either, but he was able to connect some dots.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Brendon began, sensing Jon’s hesitation. “I’ve tried talking to Ryan, I’m not trying to like, go behind his back. I just don't know what to do. He won't have a real conversation with me, and keeps saying he’s said ‘too much’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I don't think it's personal. To like, any of us.” Jon shrugged. “I haven't known him personally as long as the other guys, or Spencer, but that's not, like, how he normally is. He was fine the first few days you got here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon frowned. It was reassuring at least to hear Jon think it wasn't about him. Or any of them. “That's good to know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could try talking to Spencer if you really can't get Ryan to talk.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer hates me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon burst out laughing, having to stifle himself at Brendon’s glare. “Sorry, sorry, I can't help it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why is that funny?” Brendon asked but couldn't help but laugh along with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon shook his head. “On the other hand, maybe you </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>try talking to Spencer.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But Jon-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on Brendon, he’s not that scary.” Jon laughed again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm his roommate now, I’m not trying to start shit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Jon said, becoming serious again. “When did that happen?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This morning.” Brendon replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon thought for a moment. “Yeah no, something weird is definitely going on. Let’s get to lunch early, maybe I can help you talk to Spence.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on you big baby! It’ll be fine!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It absolutely was not fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please can we not do this now?” Brendon asked as Jon walked to their usual table, practically dragging Brendon behind him. Spencer was already seated and Ryan was nowhere in sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Jon asked. “He’s alone, it'll be fine.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just, please. I don't want there to be people around if he decides to yell at me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>less likely</span>
  </em>
  <span> to yell if there are people around.” Jon countered. “Hey, Spence.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon slid into the chair next to Spencer, motioning to Brendon to do the same. He reluctantly sat down, wishing to be anywhere else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, hey Jon.” Spencer greeted him. He nodded toward Brendon. “Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Spencer.” Jon began, folding his hands. At least he was leading the conversation. Brendon would be stumbling over his words. “Y’know Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer raised an eyebrow at him. “I do, in fact, know Ryan, yes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Jon exclaimed. “Well Brendon and I here were just wondering-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't even notice Ryan approaching until he sat down across from Spencer. Brendon kicked Jon hard under the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, fuck!” Jon swore, message well received.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything okay?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer gave Jon a strange look but otherwise stayed quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup!” Jon exclaimed, glaring at Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jon’s just being a little dramatic.” Brendon said, glaring right back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so nothing new.” Ryan said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The table laughed, dispelling the weird tension. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyways, I’m gonna grab lunch.” Jon said, standing up. “Spence?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer didn't meet his gaze. “Not today, turkey makes me sick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon?” Jon tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon just shook his head, no excuses coming to mind. Turkey didn't sound especially appetizing to him either, not that many things did. But Turkey with heavy stuffing and greasy potatoes was definitely a no-go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come with you, Jon.” Ryan said, and oh no, maybe Brendon should've thought about that better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sweet.” Jon said, side eyeing Brendon like he could read his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took Ryan up to the lunch line, leaving Spencer and Brendon alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So uh,” Spencer began. “What the fuck was that about?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon ran a hand through his hair. He couldn't think of a lie, but he wasn't about to start the conversation when they had maybe a minute max before Jon and Ryan got back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll talk to you about it tonight.” Brendon said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ooookay…” Spencer said. He paused for a moment. “And it's about Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What's about me?” Ryan asked, sitting back down, Jon right behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should play music again today.” Jon said, coming to the rescue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I like that idea.” Brendon agreed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” Jon smiled. “I’ll ask Pricilla if she can take us after lunch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Much to Brendon’s luck, lunch was pretty uneventful after that. Jon did his best to uphold a conversation, but without Ryan or Spencer willing to contribute at all, it was kind of a lost cause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They made their way down to the basement, Pricilla settled on the ratty couch, pulling her phone out, perfectly mirroring herself from the day before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we playing today?” Jon asked, plugging in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer got behind the drums, making no effort to respond. Ryan on the other hand was busy fiddling with his guitar. He seemed to be having trouble tuning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need a hand Ross? What the fuck is going on?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan jumped at Jon’s impatient tone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Jon said, deflating. “I’m just a little tired of having to hold up a conversation with 4 people for Christ’s sake.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I-” Ryan began, tugging on his hair. “What were you saying?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we playing today man?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Ryan sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have a keyboard?” Brendon interrupted, eyes wandering to the dilapidated instrument in the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We do.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You play?” Ryan asked quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do.” Brendon said. He pulled the poor, dusty thing into his space, looking around for an outlet with a spot for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wiped the keys off with his sleeve and plugged it in. Still worked fine, to Brendon’s surprise. “We could do something with this.” Brendon said, playing a few chords. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you playing ‘Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy’, you absolute flaming homosexual?” Jon laughed, earning a smile from the other boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says the one who recognized the song from the first three notes.” Brendon quipped back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s got you there.” Spencer said, holding back a laugh. Even Ryan chuckled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay you listen here-” Jon began defensively, but he couldn't stop smiling. “Okay, maybe. But only when it’s business related.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am not sure what that means.” Brendon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't want to.” Spencer said. He played a couple of quick fills, effectively stopping the conversation before it could progress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wondered if it had anything to do with what Gerard and Frank told him in the courtyard. That Jon was somehow supplying Spence coke. He wondered if that had anything to do with them sleeping together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to play something harder.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The man speaks up!” Jon exclaimed. “Spencer never chooses the song so if he's in the mood he definitely gets first pick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded, though his head was down, eyes on his guitar strings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you have in mind?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you play Mr. Brightside, Ry?” Spencer asked. When addressing Ryan, his voice was softer. Some of his token anger seemed to melt away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oo real hard, Spence.” Jon teased, causing Spencer to flip him off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't reply, or look in Spencer’s direction, but he began playing the opening notes. His brows came together as he frowned hard in concentration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon moved the keys out the way, stepping up to the microphone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine. Gotta, gotta be down because I want it all. It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer almost looked happy tapping away on the hi-hats. Jon had one leg up on his amp, swaying with the beat they were making together. He even began jumping as they entered the first chorus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jealousy, turning saints into the sea, Swimming through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis. But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes, 'cause I'm Mr. Brightside. Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Spencer yelled, drumstick flying out of his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon and Ryan stopped abruptly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Jon asked, watching Spencer closely. He had one hand on his bass strap in case he needed to take it off in a hurry to help. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer held his right arm up, trying to inspect his elbow. “I don't know.” He said. He ran a hand down the back of his arm, it came back covered in blood. “Woah, what the fuck.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pricilla!” Brendon called. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s up guys?” She asked, coming over, mouth dropping open at the amount of blood on Spencer's hand. It was dripping off his elbow, pooling on the snare. “Jesus Christ, what happened?” She asked, helping Spencer up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon set his bass down and inspected the wall behind Spencer. “Shit, maybe it has something to do with this loose nail, covered in blood.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” Pricilla swore. “You're gonna need a tetanus shot, cmon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pricilla helped Spencer from behind the drums, grabbing a discarded polishing rag to hold under him to keep blood from dripping everywhere. “You boys stay right here and be good. I’m just gonna get him to the infirmary.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, I’m fine-” Spencer began but she stopped him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're fine now Spencer, but you’ll be lucky to have an arm at all if it gets infected!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer grumbled something in response but let Priscilla drag him up the stairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room fell silent. Ryan stood frozen, eyes locked on the pool of blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” Brendon asked. He didn't respond. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon seemed to notice, and grabbed his polishing rag from his bass case, tossing it onto the snare. Ryan snapped out of it, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here Ry.” Jon said, taking a dab pen out of his pocket. “Looks like you could use some of this.” He took a hit before handing it to Ryan, who inspected it closely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sure man? This looks expensive.” Ryan said, his voice hollow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, of course. Just try to hold it in, I’m not trying to have it smell like a 70s slow dance in here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It already looks like one.” Brendon joked, eyeing Ryan in his bellbottoms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan smiled before faltering for a moment. He shrugged and took a long drag, holding the pen back out to Jon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s heart leaped anyway. Maybe he was making some progress, getting Ryan to smile, even for just a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, Ryan that was huge, when’s the last time you smoked?” Jon took another hit before passing the pen to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged, still holding his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took about the same size hit as Ryan, having to force himself not to cough. He didn't know how Ryan took a hit like that, he felt like he was going to explode. He couldn't keep it in anymore, he had to cough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon coughed hard a couple of times, practically choking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh now you’re gonna be fucked too.” Jon complained, taking the pen from Brendon. “Oh fuck, what have I done? He laughed, taking a big hit himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Ryan exhaled, eyes already hooded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s head fogged up immediately, but he didn't miss the way Ryan’s shoulders relaxed. He never realized how tense Ryan was all the time. Granted, it made sense, but the older boy looked so much more calm without his shoulders practically pressed to his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, Ryan.” Jon began, leaning back on his amp. “Brendon and I were talking-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, now’s probably not a good time.” Brendon said, surprised that Jon would ever think them being stoned off their ass would be a good time to bring that up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a good time for what?” Ryan asked. He absently picked at his guitar but the volume was off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it’s nothing.” Jon said, trying to change the subject. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't focus on that though. He was too busy swimming through his own head, watching Ryan’s long fingers move across the fretboard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re staring, Brendon.” Ryan said, not looking up. His voice was flat, but not unkind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon felt his cheeks heating up, but he didn't stop staring. Why did he need to? Ryan didn't know for </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he was staring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon cleared his throat awkwardly. “So uh, maybe we should brainstorm some songs together while we wait.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon blinked, refocusing on Jon. He didn't remember the basement being that warm last time they were there. “Yeah, we can do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They looked to Ryan, but he looked unbothered. He was humming something and lightly picking on his guitar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatcha playing there Ryan?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't have any paper.” Ryan began. “So you guys have to help me remember.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh yeah, I don't think we’re in any state to be-” Brendon began.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan turned up his guitar and looked at Brendon hard, effectively freezing him in place as he crossed the room and turned the mic on himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>All I do is lie,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan sang, looking directly at Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon reached around blindly to lean on the keyboard. His heart was beating out of his chest and it was all he could do to not drop to his knees in awe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>By the ocean side. Why do the clouds all turn gray just for you? I've never bloomed such a beautiful blues.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan continued, dropping his gaze from Brendon’s finally. Brendon exhaled loudly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, how do I not be here right now?” He thought he heard Jon say from the edge of the room but he couldn't be bothered to take his attention off Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s voice was soft, almost shimmery. It entered Brendon’s brain and flowed through his veins, with nowhere to escape. Brendon could barely breathe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan played the chords a couple more times, thinking. Each time he snuck a look at Brendon, it almost caused the younger boy to fall right over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Step outside your door, And go down to the shore. Why do your eyes feel like shells in the dune? What makes a crowd turn away from a tune?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He sang. It didn't sound rehearsed at all, all written on the spot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed hard as Ryan’s eyes landed on him again, with intent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I've never bloomed such a beautiful blues. Even the tide gets high at night.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan’s eyes went unfocused for a moment, his smile faltering. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Even the truth is wrong sometimes.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He recovered quickly, the next lines coming to him with ease. Brendon was in awe. He would never be able to make up a song on the spot, never mind while looking at someone so absolutely breathtaking- </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>All I want to do is dig a hole with you. Feet are no strangers to the undertow, wind won't decide which way to blow.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan sang. He faltered again, eyes on Brendon but looking through him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“But we will never leave. You're all that's left for me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shivered, the words seeming far too personal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is a home we just don't have a door. Euphoria is a risk on the floor.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His eyes were no longer on Brendon at all, his smile wavering, but he didn't hesitate going into the next line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Words keep on crawling from under the rug. Who knew that love was a dangerous drug?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan paused entirely, glossy eyes landing on Brendon as the chord rang out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a sadness in his eyes that Brendon couldn't place. He studied Ryan carefully, desperately trying to see anything that could help him get through to Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon cleared his throat prompting Ryan to go into the next line as if nothing had happened. As if whatever moment they just had wasn't real. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Even the tide gets high at night. Even the truth is wrong sometimes, sometimes.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan slowed the tempo, though his chord changes were still quick. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who knew that love was a beautiful blues? Who knew that love was a dangerous drug?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He sang, eyes becoming more unfocused with each line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Now I know love is a beautiful drug, I know that drug is a dangerous love</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He sang sadly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know now love is a dangerous blues.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan let the chord ring out, seeming to not notice the deafening silence that followed his finish. “Yeah, I think that's it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan what the fuck?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had nothing useful to add, he was too busy staring at Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked again, looking at Brendon instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon blushed and looked away, embarrassed from getting caught. “I uh, I don't think I’ll forget that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon snorted, but otherwise kept his mouth shut, which Brendon was grateful for. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew he was staring, he knew Ryan’s soft melody was going to remain stuck in his head, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was totally fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pricilla returned not too long after she said she would. She had to leave Spencer in the infirmary as he ended up requiring a few stitches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as Brendon would've liked to stay and try to talk to Ryan after whatever happened in the basement, the need for a cigarette was too much. It would probably be better anyway. He was still blasted and didn't have the emotional energy to confront Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon also didn't think he would want to be confronted when he was that high either. Ryan seemed to be okay when they all split up. He seemed more peaceful, at least, which had to be nice. He did see Ryan heading back towards his room, so maybe he was going to try to get some sleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was still a little spacey, but the eye contact he shared with Ryan was anything but. He practically stared Brendon down, hand delivering his words to Brendon’s brain. Brendon was too fucked to care about the butterflies he got when he thought about it but he knew there would be repercussions somehow. Why wouldn't there be?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh so you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked </span>
  </em>
  <span>fucked, huh?” Jon asked on their way to the courtyard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you referring to the weed or Ryan?” Brendon asked, already knowing the answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan.” Jon replied, keeping his voice down. Brendon appreciated his subtlety, though there wasn't anyone around to hear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it that obvious?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh.” Jon shrugged. “To me it was. At this point, I don't think Ryan would allow himself to acknowledge your blatant attraction even if he did notice it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee, thanks.” Brendon laughed. “But yeah, I’m glad that Spencer wasn't there for that. He would've rocked my shit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe Ryan waited for Spencer to not be around.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't say shit like that, man.” Brendon sighed. “You might accidentally get my hopes up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrived at the courtyard, but lingered at the door for a moment longer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know.” Jon shrugged. “Might be more likely than you think. I mean I never...” He trailed off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Expected to get involved with Spencer?” Brendon suggested, voice low. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s expression fell to something cold and stony, unlike anything Brendon had seen from him before. “Who told you that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh.” Brendon stuttered, realizing his mistake. “I’m sorry man, I didn't know it was like that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just, you don't know what you're talking about.” Jon said seriously, though he didn't sound angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What else did they say?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Brendon began dumbly. He swallowed hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That seemed to be enough to answer Jon’s question. He knew everything about what was going on with them.  “Great.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He sounded like Spencer did that morning. Brendon thought it might be a good idea to</span> <span>keep that to himself. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suggest you really keep that to yourself.” Jon said, voice low. It didn't sound like it was supposed to be a threat, but Brendon took it like one. “If that got out… And Spencer didn't fuck you up about it, I would probably have to a little. You understand.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, so definitely a threat. Brendon nodded. He did understand. He liked Jon and didn't want to do anything to lose his trust. “I’ll keep my mouth shut.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon gave him a tight lipped smile and patted him on the shoulder. “I should go check on him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, Jon leaving him to head toward the nurse.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a deep breath and entered the courtyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After another smoke break and anger group it was finally time for dinner. Brendon wasn't hungry, he told himself, even though his stomach was clenching painfully. That wasn't hunger, that was progress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his lavender hoodie zipped up to his chin, Brendon made his way to the cafeteria. He was starting to get nervous. He should've never told Spencer he’d talk to him about it. He was dreading going back to his room after dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he strolled in, Gerard and Frank were sitting with Ryan, and Jon and Spencer were nowhere in sight. Ryan had one hand threaded through his hair, the other stabbing his fork uselessly into a piece of something that loosely resembled chicken. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Brendon said, sliding in next to Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Ryan replied, not looking up. He was chopping his chicken into little pieces and pushing it around his plate absently. Yeah, Brendon didn't think he wanted any part of that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon ignored Gerard as he anxiously gazed between him and Ryan while Frank told some story about how he swore he heard his dog say “get fucked”. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is with you guys and dogs?” Brendon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen!” Frank laughed. “I swear to god, one minute I was just sitting there, Sparky comes in, says ‘get fucked’ and then leaves. I was laughing so hard I literally threw up!” Frank exclaimed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but how high were you?” Gerard asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank rolled his eyes. “Listen, just because I mixed ecstasy and booze doesn't mean my story is unreliable, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gerard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He said, not being able to hold back a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>doesn't count.” Brendon said. “You must’ve heard him wrong.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whole table burst out into laughter, even Ryan couldn't hold back a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heard him wrong?” Gerard asked through giggles. “Like he said something different?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I meant!” Brendon said, kicking Gerard’s shin under the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan was watching him talk, but looking away anytime Brendon tried to meet his eyes. He noticed Ryan tick, then pull on his hair hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You alright?” Brendon asked quietly as Gerard and Frank continued bickering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mmhm.” Ryan replied with a tight smile. He blinked hard, knuckles turning white as he pulled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon looked at him skeptically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fucking telling you, Gee! My dad said he heard it too!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? Was he drunk too?” Gerard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan whispered something under his breath, hitting the heel of his palm against his forehead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking probably.” Frank paused to think. “Motherfuck Gerard, my whole life’s a lie now, you asshole.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yea-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck! Just-- fuck!” Ryan exclaimed, slamming his head to the table, hard enough that Brendon flinched. The lunchroom fell silent. “Get the fuck out, Jesus Christ, I can't fucking think, just get the fuck out!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” Janice asked, making her way over to the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't!” He yelled, head shooting back up. “Stay back.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janice held her hands up in surrender. “Why don’t you come with me, Ryan?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going anywhere with you!” He said, voice shaking. His eyes were glossed over, unfocused, like he wasn't even seeing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janice gingerly put her hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He stood up abruptly, roughly pulling away from her touch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking touch me! This wasn't part of it!” Ryan cried. “I did everything I was supposed to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It isn't fair, what more do you want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear.” Janice muttered, waving someone over that Brendon couldn't see. He was focused on Ryan. He was shaking, absolutely terrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” Brendon asked, standing up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard made a warning sound of disapproval. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan jumped at the sound of his voice, spinning around. Brendon watched his eyes fill with tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, Brendon?” Ryan began, practically looking through him. “Why do you have to torture me like this when you know I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” he yelled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon froze, stuttering over his words. “I didn't- I don't-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't you </span>
  <em>
    <span>dare</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” he scowled. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>far </span>
  </em>
  <span>too selfish, I don't want to hold on anymore.” He said, anger melting into sadness.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon opened his mouth but no words came out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re dead. You’re going to be dead, and I’m gonna be the one that killed you.” Ryan cried voice cracking. His hands went up his sleeves, roughly scratching over all of his cuts. Blood slowly seeped through his sleeves, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brendon’s sleeves,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but a few nurses came forward to grab him before he could do any more damage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't touch me!” Ryan yelled as they tried to walk him out of the room. He tried to pull away, but one of the nurses plunged a needle into his neck. Ryan cried out, trying to pull away again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon could see the sedative go into effect as Ryan slumped into Janice’s shoulder. His legs gave out and the nurses hauled him away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon felt like he was going to be sick. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with shaky hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck happened?” Frank asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I don't know.” Brendon stuttered. “Jon got us stoned at lunch, maybe he- maybe-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jon fucking Walker.” Frank swore. “I’m gonna kick him in the fucking dick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No you’re not.” Gerard said, voice distant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am Gerard, you wouldn't let me last time, so I’m definitely fucking going to now!” Frank exclaimed, standing up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not fucking kicking him in the dick Frank, sit the fuck down.” Gerard hissed, grabbing Frank’s arm hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank let out a huff of air and sat back down, frowning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon continued standing there, speechless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bren?” Gerard asked, suddenly next to him. He grunted in response. “It’s gonna be okay, c’mon, sit down.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Brendon replied, too defeated to argue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean it.” Gerard said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shrugged the hand off his shoulder and left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would go to his room, he decided, not really having much choice. He moved like a zombie, still nauseated from the way Ryan looked at him, so betrayed. He also said he would kill him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was a lot to unpack, and Brendon didn't know where to begin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right when Brendon was about to enter his room, Janice left Ryan’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi honey.” Janice said with a sad smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he gonna be okay?” Brendon asked before he could stop himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janice thought for a moment before she replied. “The meds only put him out for a few minutes, enough to calm him down and get him out of the situation.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon swallowed. That was good to know, but it wasn't what he meant. “I mean like, is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna be okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Janice gave him another soft smile. “He’s resilient. I'm sure he wouldn't mind a friend though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That made Brendon feel sick. “And if he doesn't want one?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone needs a friend, Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded to himself as Janice passed him, back to the front desk. He hesitated, feeling like something was off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shrugged to himself and walked in. Maybe he should've listened to his gut, because Jon Walker the goddamn Bass Player was on top of Spencer, completely naked, breathing hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god!” Brendon yelled, covering his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh fuck.” He heard Jon exclaim, along with some shuffling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dude get out! What are you doing?” Spencer yelled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was probably a good idea. “Sorry, sorry.” Brendon stuttered, backing out and slamming the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the fuck. The familiar feeling of bile rose in Brendon’s throat. His bathroom was a no-go clearly. He pushed out into the courtyard and emptied his stomach acid into a bush. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed the branches roughly, dry heaving. He hadn't had anything but water and cigarettes since breakfast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a deep breath and sat back on one of the stone benches. He wiped his mouth, feeling immediately guilty about his reaction. He knew they were sleeping together, he just couldn't handle any more surprises in a short span of time like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wished he had somewhere he could go. He wished he could knock on Ryan’s door and tell him what he just saw, and they could laugh until their sides hurt. They could sing together to pass the time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears sprung to Brendon’s eyes despite his best efforts. He was so exhausted. It hit him all at once like a freight train, and to make it even worse, he had Ryan’s voice stuck in his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>All I do is lie, by the ocean side.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brendon sang, shakily, pathetically. His voice was raw from vomiting. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why do the clouds all turn grey just for you? I've never bloomed such a beautiful blues.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wondered what it meant. Ryan’s words were beautiful and intriguing, much like he was. And also much like Ryan, Brendon wanted more. He wanted to hear more of his music, his words. He wanted to see more of his head and his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stood up and wiped his tears away. His vision went dark, he stood up too fast. He grabbed at the door to steady himself and stumbled into the hallway. He didn't know where to go. He just wanted to lay down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every ounce of his being told him to knock on Ryan’s door, check on him. Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was too tired to keep standing there though. He tripped on his shoe a little when he started moving again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat against the little patch of wall between his room and Ryan’s and leaned his head back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had no intention of drifting off so when his door slammed shut he jumped a mile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit.” Jon said, fully clothed, thank god. “I didn't know you were still here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn't really have anywhere else to go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Jon said. “Sorry about that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A warning, a sock on the door, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>man, please.” Brendon groaned, getting flashbacks of Jon’s bare ass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How much did you see?” Jon asked, wrinkling his nose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just your back. Mostly.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, jeez, sorry again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's whatever.” Brendon said. “I just want to go to sleep.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer and I are gonna try to catch the tail end of dinner anyway.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On command, Spencer joined them in the hallway, refusing to make eye contact with Brendon. “You didn't see shit.” He said, cheeks red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn't see shit, can I sleep now?” Brendon asked, getting up and pushing past Spencer and Jon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Night man, sorry.” Jon called as Brendon shut the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon flopped back on his bed and took a deep breath. God, it was such a long day. It felt like the bed was spinning. He decided sitting up might be a better idea considering he was still nauseated. The lingering smell of sweat did nothing to help with that either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The image of Ryan’s blood stained sleeves popped back into Brendon’s mind. He carefully sat up, leaning over to dig through his dresser for another shirt. The only other cotton long sleeve he had was a black Led Zeppelin shirt. It would have to be good enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon folded the shirt and tucked it under his arm. He imagined Ryan still had to be knocked out, but that didn't stop him from tiptoeing to Ryan’s door, opening it as gently as he could, and laying the shirt neatly inside the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sighed in relief as we reentered his room and shut off the light. He shucked his pants and hoodie off and crawled into bed. It was going to be a long night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon woke with a start, cold sweat dripping down his neck. He didn't think he had any kind of a nightmare but that didn't stop him from looking around his room frantically, making sure he was safe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no clock in the wall of this room which added to Brendon’s disorientation. Spencer wasn't in his bed either. Brendon’s brows came together, thoroughly confused. He fell back on the bed and ran a hand through his damp hair when a small sound caught his attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was coming through the wall, he realized. Brendon pressed his ear to the wall and almost thought he was dreaming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor, this is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital. It's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional, it sure as hell ain't normal but we deal, we deal.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ryan sang softly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The anesthetic never set in and I'm wondering where the apathy and urgency is that I thought I phoned in</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard Ryan sigh and a soft thump. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Can't take the kid from the fight, take the fight from the kid. Sit back, relax, sit back, relapse again.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s heart hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You're a regular decorated emergency, the bruises and contusions will remind me what you did when you wake. You've earned your place atop the ICU's hall of fame. The camera caught you causing a commotion on the gurney again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His entire chest ached. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The I.V. and your hospital bed this was no accident, this was a therapeutic chain of events.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>follow my tumblr jonwalkerthebassplayer for fic updates</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry this one took so long. i have chap 8 written and it'll be posted once chap 9 is done. uhh heed the tw's for this one. major blood cw toward the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Brendon woke up sometime early the next morning to the sound of birds chirping, but the sky was still dark.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The events of last night, of dinner time, played through his head almost immediately. It reminded him it was not, in fact, a dream, like he so desperately wished it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where was he supposed to go from there? What kind of conversation could he have with Ryan to fix them?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon made an involuntarily sound of disgust. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Them’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What the fuck was he thinking? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did I wake you?” Spencer asked, making Brendon jump. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” He said, rolling onto his side to look at Spencer. He was laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, not even blinking. “Didn't even notice you were back.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon waited a moment for his response but it never came. Brendon sighed. What did Ryan mean he was torturing him? Ryan would barely have a conversation with him, never mind anything that could be construed as torture. Right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you want to talk about yesterday?” Spencer asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At lunch yesterday. Jon wouldn't tell me anything. Said that you had to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed hard. There would never be a good time to have that talk with Spencer, Brendon realized. “You guys went to dinner right? Did Gerard and Frank talk to you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we heard what happened with Ryan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Brendon said. It struck him that it might be a better idea to begin the conversation elsewhere. “Why do you hate me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer blinked once, then a couple more times, as if he were snapping back to reality. “I thought Jon said it had to do with Ryan?” he asked, ignoring Brendon’s question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn't it?” Brendon asked, flinching at his boldness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Spencer said and set his jaw, eyes re-fixating on the ceiling. “This is just- I’m just</span>
  <em>
    <span> like</span>
  </em>
  <span> this. To everyone.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't like that to Jon.  “Ryan told me he knew you. Before all this.” Brendon said instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer turned to him, pupils blown. His eyes looked huge in the early light. “What did he tell you?” His voice was hard and cold and frankly, it scared Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You went to school together. He said he would go over your house a lot.” Brendon replied softly and carefully, as if he were talking to a wild animal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What else?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you know anything about why he’s been acting so off?” Brendon tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why the fuck do you care so much?” Spencer snapped. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you do know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer rolled his eyes and sat up, turning to face Brendon. “Even if I did, why does it matter to you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't want to explain, he couldn't, not to Spencer. What would he even say? He felt something for Ryan, that much was clear, but it wasn't something he could dwell on. Or let himself consider long enough, because he would end up destroying himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't imagine a situation that would conjure more false hope than letting himself get attached, think there could be more, or even anything with Ryan. There was something seriously wrong with him. Just his existence was too much for Ryan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He does that to people.” Spencer said offhandedly, catching Brendon’s attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does what?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer shook his head, brows coming together, expression darkening. He was quiet for a moment, avoiding the question entirely. “I really don't know anything about what's going on. He wasn't… When I knew him it wasn't that bad.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” He replied, though it felt like Spencer was holding something back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer laid back in his bed, eyes back to the ceiling. They both laid in silence for a few moments. Brendon could almost see the sun peeking over the horizon. It wouldn't be long until morning meds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did he say anything else though?” Spencer asked, voice small. “About when we were younger?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing specific.” Brendon said. “Just that you grew apart after you started drinking and partying or whatever.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer was noticeably still, shoulders tense. “Yeah.” he said stiffly. “Sounds about right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, Brendon had to go to breakfast, and more unfortunately, he had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat </span>
  </em>
  <span>breakfast. He stood in line behind Dallon, thumbing at the chipping plastic tray in his hands. It was stupid of him to get his hopes up that Ryan might show up. He knew he wouldn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The breakfast options were all greasy and dense, making Brendon’s stomach clench. His best option looked like scrambled eggs and a piece of toast. It was hardly ideal but it would have to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was running on empty, he knew he was, his last meal being 12 hours ago. He took a cup of orange juice for good measure. He could run off the sugars in that for a while at least if nothing else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made his way back to his usual table, unsurprised, but still disappointed that Ryan’s hadn't decided to show up while he wasn't looking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer was uncomfortably quiet as Brendon sat down. Brendon felt like he knew too much about Spencer, and the more he knew the worse Spencer would treat him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All I’m saying,” Jon Walker said, giving Brendon a small nod as he sat down, but otherwise continued. “Is that one day, the earth is going to get so fed up with our bullshit and reclaim itself with natural disasters or something. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>eagerly </span>
  </em>
  <span>await that day.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's some profound shit, Walker.” Spencer said, deadpan and ultimately uninterested. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Brendon preferred to just sit on the sidelines, to not be included. It made him feel safer. He was lucky that he was a generally easy going guy. He didn't care what others thought of him to a certain extent, but he knew that with a few choice words, he could also be totally destroyed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That's not to say it hadn't ever happened before, it had. Being the son of a gay heretic certainly did nothing to discourage middle school bullies. It invited it, in fact, and Brendon had heard it all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some dumb jock calling him a fag didn't hurt like his friends telling him he ate too much did. Granted, both were true, but it was different somehow.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't even notice Jon stopped talking until he started again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna guess that you guys talked?” Jon asked. “Your deafening silence is kinda a give away.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Brendon asked, glancing at Jon and poking at his scrambled eggs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were hardly scrambled eggs, and reminded Brendon much more of sea sponges. Brendon was quite picky, especially with his mom’s cooking, but he couldn't deny she made a mean plate of scrambled eggs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She would cook them until they were just set, stirring the whole time to make soft, fluffy eggs. Nothing like the styrofoam he was poking at. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed the eggs to the side and took a bite of toast instead. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon rolled his eyes and turned to Spencer. “What happened?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing happened.” Spencer replied easily. He seemed as happy to avoid the conversation as Brendon was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, bullshit.” Jon said to Spencer. “After all this time, and you still forget I can read you like a damn book.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer flushed at that and looked down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer said he doesn't know anything.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon’s brows came together as he looked at Spencer hard. Spencer gave him some kind of pleading look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon watched some type of unverbal conversation unfold but he couldn't tell what Jon was trying to communicate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took another small bite of toast and opened his orange juice. It was surprisingly bitter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“D’you still wanna practice today?” Spencer asked Jon, changing the subject. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon seemed to ponder that. He took a sip of his hot chocolate. One of the many ironies of Clover Fields was they could smoke cigarettes but weren't allowed coffee, so hot chocolate was the closest and only substitute. “We could probably get Gerard and Frank to fill in for us today if you had your heart set on it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frank plays guitar right?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the kid fuckin’ shreds.” Spencer replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what does Gerard do?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gerard, is uh,” Jon began. “He’s a vocalist.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, don't sound so confident about it.” Spencer laughed, making Jon laugh too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Is he, like, bad or something?” Brendon asked.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no not at all.” Jon said. “Both him and Frank sing a little. They're just very unconventional. Definitely not bad, but very punk, y’know? I hope you have a broad taste in music because they're probably not going to want to play Counting Crows, if you know what I'm saying.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said, tearing the crust of his shitty wheat bread into tiny pieces. “Yeah, that's fine. I can play rhythm, but I don't have an electric of my own.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could use Ryan’s.” Jon suggested. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” Spencer began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea.” Brendon said, cocking an eyebrow to himself. That seemed like a recipe for disaster.  “Not without his permission at least.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if I got his permission?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would want him to give it to me specifically. And after last night I highly doubt he will.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah.” Jon said. “What even happened?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was still for a moment. He dropped his last chunk of toast onto his plate, feeling immediately nauseated. He almost had the events of last night pushed out of his head, and Jon Walker the fuckin’ Bass Player had to ruin that for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer said you guys already heard.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not the details.” Jon replied. Spencer looked especially intrigued, though seemed carefully motionless, like if he spooked Brendon, he wouldn't end up telling him anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't want to tell him anything anyways. He didn't want to tell either of them. Saying it out loud made it more real. And it was already plenty real enough. “I’m gonna go.” Brendon said, standing up and taking his tray. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, I’m sorry.” Jon said, reaching in his direction. “You don't have to- I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just don't want to be here right now.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dumped his tray in the trash and made his way to the courtyard, cigarettes in hand. Only one left after the one he was holding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Too focused on lighting his smoke, he didn't even notice Ryan on the bench until he stood up suddenly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon froze, like a deer in headlights, lighter mid-air. Ryan looked like a ghost, all pale skin and red eyes. Brendon wasn't sure but it looked like his hands were shaking, his cigarette bouncing like a bottled shooting star while Brendon’s sat unlit, dumbly between his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan didn't strike him as a regular smoker. He wanted to say something about that but his tongue felt too heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan let out a small squeak and dropped his cigarette into the metal ashtray. He dropped his eyes to the floor and went straight to the other door, and practically sprinted out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, that hurt. A lot. He was actively running from Brendon now, which was wonderful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s room wasn't even on that side of the hall. He would have to run by the other set of windows to get to his room, passing Brendon again. The thought made Brendon sick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat down on the bench Ryan had just fled, his back to Ryan’s room so he wouldn't have to see him again. Ryan’s cigarette was barely smoked. He hadn't been there long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon tucked his own unlit cigarette back into his pack and took Ryan’s instead. He convinced himself it was the best decision if he wanted to make his last until Sunday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That reminded him, he still needed to call Aubrey. He took a long drag, focusing on the taste of tobacco. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door to the courtyard opened, making Brendon involuntarily flinch. He wasn't in the mood for Jon, or Frank, or god forbid, Ryan again. Brendon was instead surprised to see Fiona. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there you are!” She greeted him. “Can I sit?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat at one of the benches on the other side of the courtyard, giving Brendon space. Or maybe she was just avoiding the smoke. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fiona was a pretty woman, Brendon couldn't help but notice. She had shoulder length, curly red hair. Brendon kind of expected all Fiona’s to have red hair, but maybe that was just bias from Shrek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn't be much older than 28 or 29 if Brendon had to guess. She wore an ankle length floral skirt and an oversized green knit sweater. It looked handmade. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, I just wanted to check in.” She began, clasping her hands together. “I know we’ve talked a little in group, but I’m also an eating disorder therapist and licensed nutritionist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't help but squint at her, just slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my job to make sure patients are staying physically healthy while they're getting mentally healthy, that's all.” She added, sensing the hostility Brendon was radiating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you think I need an eating disorder therapist?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something crossed Fiona’s face that Brendon couldn't read. “I didn't say that.” She smiled politely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took another drag, lips lingering where Ryan’s had been only minutes earlier. He shook his head once hard, shaking the thought from his mind. He couldn't go there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have noticed you missed a few meals at this point. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything was okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon said shortly. He knew his tone would do nothing to help him convince her that he was fine. “I’m just picky.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Fiona exclaimed. “Well, that's something we can handle. We try to make sure we have variety in the meals we prepare each day, so that everyone can have something substantial, healthy, and filling. If there's a meal you really don't like, we always have cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, tomato, basically anything you could need to make a sandwich.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded along, half listening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We keep that stuff in the kitchen but if you ask Jenny, our head cook, she’d be happy to put something together for you, or let you put it together even.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Brendon said noncommittally. “Thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fiona hesitated a moment. She seemed to be choosing her words before speaking. “There isn't a punishment for not eating, but we need to make sure everyone is taking care of themselves. I hope you understand. And if you continue to miss meals, we will need to put some kind of meal plan together to ensure that doesn't keep happening.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That certainly sounded like a punishment to Brendon. “How much do I have to eat to meet the requirement?” Brendon asked rather robotically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There isn't a set amount.” She said, watching Brendon carefully. He shifted uncomfortably. “We just aim to make sure you're trying.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Great. So they could decide to tube him whenever they felt like it. “Okay.” Brendon said. “I’ll try my best.” He lied through his teeth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful!” Fiona smiled, standing up. “My office is just down the hall if you need anything or are having trouble finding a meal you like.” She gestured behind herself, past Jon’s room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Brendon said, taking a slow drag and letting the smoke float out between his lips. He focused on the smoke, ignoring Fiona’s departure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An eating plan would ruin absolutely everything, and Brendon was fucked as it was with whatever was happening with Ryan. He took a deep breath. At least they didn't seem to know he was a puker. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s first group was addiction group. He practically dragged himself into the room and tucked himself into an empty armchair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of the group was already there. Dallon was sprawled out on one of the loveseats, visibly hard in his striped pants. Brendon tried not to look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank was there, and he was finally starting to look like what Brendon imagined he normally looked like, when he wasn't withdrawing from narcotics. He looked less like a corpse and more of a real person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer was on the other loveseat with Jon. Spencer had seemed a little out of it when he had talked to Brendon earlier that morning, but Brendon figured he didn't get much sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't seem too different at breakfast, but now, both his knees were bouncing and he kept looking up at the clock. It said 9:03. Dr. D was late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob arrived next, sliding into an armchair and putting his hood up. It looked like he was going to try to sleep through the group and Brendon didn't blame him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, Dr. D came in, followed by Pete, who sat on the far side of Dallon, making a sound of disgust as he passed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dallon shifted, readjusting his pants. “Sorry Pete, I was just so lost in thought. Probably some shit you’d be into, too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I fuckin’ doubt that.” Pete scoffed. “You're one weird motherfucker Weekes. And I'm not into dick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Dallon said, sort of looking off into the distance. His eyes were unfocusing as he seemed to recall whatever he was thinking of. “You ever been blown while you were up on a block, noose around your neck?” He said almost wistfully. “Nothing to grab onto if something went wrong?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon watched Pete visibly swallow, his eyes widening ever so slightly. “Like I said.” Pete said, clearing his throat. “You’re weird as fuck.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dallon laughed, shifting again in his seat and straightening out his pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m late. I had to take care of something.” He said, giving Pete a pointed look that Pete ignored, too busy lost in thought. “Alright.” Dr. D began, sitting down and dropping his briefcase on the table next to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about we just go around real quick and update me on how you're doing. You can start, Bob.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob peered out from under his hoodie. “Yeah, hard fuckin’ pass, D Man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Dr. D said, scribbling something in his notebook. “But I’m coming to talk to you later.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob grunted in response, lowering his hood again and leaning back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing Frank? You’re looking a lot better.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Feeling a lot better.” Frank said. He even had color in his cheeks. “Sweat most of it out I think.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure looks like it!” Dr. D exclaimed. “How are you feeling about being off it though? Having any urges?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank grimaced. “Only when I think about it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How often are you thinking about it?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Constantly.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I see how that could be a problem.” Dr. D said, taking more notes. “Have you been doing anything to keep your mind busy?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile crept up onto Frank’s lips. “I like listening to Gerard about whatever new comic he’s working on. His imagination is endless man, I swear to god.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank visibly softened when he talked about Gerard, Brendon noticed. He imagined if he told Frank how his eyes sparkled when he talked about Gerard, he’d get socked in the arm, but it was sweet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clearly not that endless.” Pete muttered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank’s smile fell faster than Brendon knew was possible. Frank’s eyes went dark, his voice was cold. “I will fucking gut you Wentz.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah woah woah.” Dr. D said, standing up before Frank could. “Is there going to be a problem?” He asked, looking down between the two boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not if Pete can keep his fuckin’ mouth shut for once.” Frank spit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like you’re gonna-” Pete began, but Dr. D cut him off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know what?” Dr. D said. “You can go Frank, we already checked in, you can go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank glared at Pete, but did what he was told, letting the door slam behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pussy.” Pete said under his breath, to no one in particular. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'll get to you in a minute.” Dr. D said, pointing a thick finger in Pete’s direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete rolled his eyes and Dr. D took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay where were we?” Dr. D said, seemingly to himself. “Spencer. How are you today?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘M okay.” Spencer said, crossing his ankles to keep his legs from bouncing as Dr. D watched him carefully. Dr. D squinted at him for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No urges?” Dr. D asked, raising a bushy eyebrow in Spencer’s direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really.” Spencer replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer Smith, are you fucking kidding me?” Dr. D asked, or boomed, rather. His voice was loud enough to make Brendon jump. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer swallowed. “What?” he asked, but even Brendon could smell his bullshit from across the room. He didn't know what happened, but whatever it was, Spencer was glaringly guilty about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck do you think I am?” Dr. D asked. “You think you can come into my group high and get away with it? I am genuinely insulted.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oop.” Dallon commented.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer opened his mouth to speak, his ears bright red, but Dr. D stopped him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it.” Dr. D said, holding one large hand up. “Go to your clinician’s office. I'll meet you there after group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But-” Spencer began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now!” Dr. D shouted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer got up and left, his head hung. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse my outburst.” Dr. D said, his voice still raised, but his tone calmer. “But what the everloving hell is going on today?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not even a full moon.” Jon commented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.” Jon said, folding his arms and sinking back into his chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D exhaled roughly. “If anyone else is gonna start shit, you can leave now. I’m not in the mood.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one moved or said anything, seemingly frozen by the outburst.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Dr. D said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D wrapped up group pretty quickly after that. He didn't even bother to prod Brendon,  about why he was in the group. He counted that as a win, though. He wasn't really addicted to anything besides nicotine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And nicotine barely counted anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon decided to stop at his room before going out for a smoke. He was getting a little warm in his two hoodies.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was surprised to find Spencer there. He sat on his bed, back to the wall, knees up. His eyes were red but he wasn't crying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey.” Brendon said, tossing his jacket onto the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer didn't reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you need anything?”  Brendon asked. He didn't see where Dr. D ended up after group, but he imagined it would've been to check on Spencer. Maybe Spencer was avoiding him. Dr. D was scary on a good day, never mind when he was angry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't.” Spencer snapped. “I’m not in the fucking mood.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon held up his hands defensively. He wasn't trying to give Spencer a hard time. Yeah, he probably shouldn't have gone to group high. Who did he think he was going to fool? The substance abuse counselor, of all people?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Dr. D shouldn't have called him out so publicly. It wasn't his place to do something like that, no matter how pissed he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can try to distract him if you're hiding out.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer deflated ever so slightly. “I already talked to my clinician. She sent me back here. She’s gonna talk to him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, shifting awkwardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” Brendon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer rested his head on his crossed arms making it pretty clear he had nothing more to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon left, figuring Spencer would be better off by himself, or with Jon, anyways. He headed toward the courtyard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would probably be best to save his last two cigarettes for emergencies anyway. And sitting in his room until his next activity, with Spencer just staring at him, didn't sound particularly appealing either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon was perched on a rock behind one of the benches in the courtyard, something Brendon hadn't noticed before. He was talking to Gerard and Frank animatedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he noticed Brendon, he shot up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jon called, waving Brendon over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What's up?” Brendon greeted him, taking a seat in the flowers by Frank’s feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been informed that you're interested in my abilities.” Gerard said seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your what?” Brendon asked, brows coming together. He had no idea what that meant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank snorted and rolled his eyes. He took a drag of his cigarette before handing it to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must've been staring, nicotine lust apparent to someone like Frank. He seemed like a pack and a half kind of guy if Brendon had to guess.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gratefully took a hit and went to hand it back, but Frank waved him off and lit another for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna jam with you guys.” Frank mumbled, cigarette bobbing between his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said. Yeah, duh, that made more sense. “What do you guys wanna play?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He figured if he needed time to figure out a guitar part, he might as well find out as soon as possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A mischievous grin spread over Gerard’s face. His strangely pointed teeth made it more concerning. “Frankie and I have a couple originals we’d like to show you, right Frankie?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh Jesus, which ones?” Jon interjected. “I’ve heard some of the shit you play man, it's terrifying.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad.” Gerard said. “You just don't know art when it looks you in the face, huh, Jon Walker?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Jon snickered. “Sex. And blood. And bloody sex. Real artistic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!” Gerard laughed, blowing smoke right into Jon’s face, making him cough and swat at the shorter man. “If anyone can make blood sexy, you know it's me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And he definitely makes blood sexy.” Frank added, egging him on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ew.” Jon said, shaking his head like he was trying to rid himself of the image. “Fucking emos.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's the goal!” Gerard grinned, poking Frank in the dimple. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not an </span>
  <em>
    <span>emo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, bitch boy.” Frank scowled, swatting his hand away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I am a bitch boy.” Gerard agreed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you are.” Frank nodded, jabbing Gerard in the ribs lightly, making him yelp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, jam today?” Jon asked, effectively stopping their bickering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank laughed. “Hell yeah.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They decided to jam before lunch this time. Gerard had hypno after lunch and wouldn't be around to serenade them. Or at least, that's how he explained it to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They plugged in, tuned up, and the look on Gerard’s face as he sauntered up to the mic was priceless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vampire Money?” Frank asked, fiddling with his amp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know it baby.” Gerard grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The song’s in like D flat or something.” Frank said, standing up and getting into place. “It’s pretty simple if you wanna play along.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can try my best.” Brendon said, one of Frank’s guitars in his hands. He knew basic music theory on piano but was less confident when it came to guitar. Especially when he’d never heard the song before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would do what he could to keep up. Brendon was excited to see what they were planning, and what it had to do with ‘bloody sex’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Jon didn't know the song, he didn't show it. He seemed as confident as ever. Brendon wasn't even sure how he even convinced Spencer to come. He was even more surprised Spencer was allowed to come, but as he started playing, Brendon was glad he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer started up the intro. It was all drums, so he must’ve known the song. Drums that specific couldn't be faked, no matter how talented Spencer was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank started playing a simple palm muted rhythm, waiting for Gerard to get set up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just follow the vocals with octaves if you're not sure.” Frank said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re in for it now.” Jon said, half to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, you ready Brendon?” Gerard asked, dramatically tapping the mic. He reached over and increased the volume.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon replied, hoping it was the truth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How bout you, Frank?” Gerard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuckin’ ready.” Frank replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m alright.” Gerard said with a shrug. “1, 2, 3, 4!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank gave him a nod before going into what could only be described as some kind of emo surfer rock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Three, two, one, we came to <em>fuck</em>.” Gerard sang, moaning out the last word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And oh, yup, that was unique for sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Everybody party 'til the gasman comes. Sparkle like Bowie in the morning sun, and get a parking violation on La Brea 'til it's done!</em>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't sure what he was expecting based on how Jon and Spencer talked about Gerard’s vocals, but he was certainly a better singer than Brendon imagined. Gerard’s voice was dry and rough, but also high like his speaking voice. He liked it a lot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily for Brendon, the combination of knowing the key and a few basic surfer scales, he was able to keep up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Hair back, collar up, jet black, so cool! Sing it like the kids that are mean to you!</em>” Gerard sang. He had a presence when he sang too, Brendon noticed, like he demanded attention. Like a real performer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank did a pick slide as Gerard went into the chorus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on!” Frank yelled as a type of back up vocal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>When you wanna be a movie star.</em>” Gerard sang. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Play the game and take the band real far.</em>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Play it right and drive a Volvo car.</em>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“<em>Pick a fight at an airport bar!</em>” Gerard sang. “<em>The kids don't care if you're alright, honey. Pills don't help, but it sure is funny. Gimme, gimme some of that vampire money, come on!</em>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It took Brendon a moment to really take in the lyrics but… were they singing about Twilight? Or was it a coincidence? Not that Brendon ever really watched… or enjoyed Twilight of course. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon snuck a look at Pricilla who had headphones in and was typing away on her phone, then followed Frank into the next verse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After going through the chorus again, Frank ended the song with a really cool guitar solo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ.” Jon said, as the drum echoed out into nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You called?” Gerard grinned in a sing-songy voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ha. Ha.” He said, not laughing. He then turned to Spencer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not done yet.” Frank said. “I don't really know how to write solos like that, but we’re working on it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well Brendon thought it was great, and very impressive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good improv Spencer, that was cool.” Gerard said, nodding along to his compliment like he was agreeing with himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer slouched on the drummer stool and shrugged. “I've heard you guys practice that one before.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you did that just from hearing us a few times?” Gerard asked in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer’s ears turned red. “Yeah, I guess.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah.” Gerard said. “Mikey’s not gonna fuckin believe it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer ended up getting abducted by Dr. Jackson on the way to lunch, so it was just Brendon, Jon, Gerard, and Frank at the lunch table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lunch was at least a little better today, much to Brendon’s relief. It was chicken tenders, fries, and salad, for whatever reason, but Brendon wasn't going to complain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He loaded up his plate with salad and one chicken tender. He didn't bother with dressing and took a cup of water instead of juice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he got back to the lunch table, everyone else was already settled. Frank and Gerard were explaining some comic Brendon had never heard of to Jon, who seemed genuinely excited to hear about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took the time to look over the lunch room as he scraped the breading off his singular piece of chicken. He cut it into little pieces and spread it across his salad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nurses that seemed to be in each corner of the lunch tapped away on their rolling laptops. They were probably logging what everyone was eating, if Brendon had to guess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't worried though. He had a full plate of salad. How was that for trying, huh, Fiona? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard and Frank didn't always sit with them, so there was an extra empty table in the lunchroom. Pete and Patrick sat with Bob and Dallon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't see much of Patrick, and didn't know much about him. He did notice that Pete was actually smiling while talking to him, and Jon had mentioned Pete going to hang out with Patrick that one time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob was too busy eating to add to the conversation, Brendon noticed. He also noticed that Dallon acted a little out of place, like he was just happy to be there. Brendon could relate to that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was worth talking to Dallon more. Maybe they had more in common than he thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon immediately scolded himself. He shouldn't be scoping out more friends. The last thing he needed was more drama. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler and Josh sat at a smaller table on the edge of the room. He didn't see Josh too frequently either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even while Tyler was talking to him animatedly, gesturing wildly, Josh just smiled. He didn't speak when they were alone either, Brendon guessed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some part of Brendon wanted to get to know the other patients better, but he felt guilty. He didn't want to be nosy. And he was happy having Jon as a friend. Jon was his friend, right? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't sure. Jon was Spencer’s friend, if nothing more. Jon didn't act like Spencer was his boyfriend or anything, but he also seemed kind of private about his relationship with Spencer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Spencer certainly didn't care for Brendon. Maybe Brendon should work on the relationships he already had before trying to start new ones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You doing okay man?” Jon asked, waving his hand in front of Brendon’s unfocused eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon snapped back to reality with a light shake of his head. “Yeah, sorry, just tired.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was referring to the dread in your eyes, not your eyebags, but okay I guess.” Jon shrugged with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for checking in, but I’m doing okay, really.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon opened his mouth to protest, but was interrupted by Lindz walking up to the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ready Gee?” She asked, making Frank go still, his smile dropping, eyes narrowing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was something Brendon noticed about Frank. He had quite the temper, specifically when Gerard was involved. The concerning part was how quickly he could go from laughing and joking, to being absolutely furious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost like he could switch his emotions with a snap of his fingers. Or maybe he was angry all the time, and the rest was an act. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't think that was the case, though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Gerard replied, dropping a kiss to Frank’s cheek and grabbing his tray. He followed Lindz out of the cafeteria. Frank was breathing hard by the time he was out of sight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You good?” Brendon asked, already knowing the answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want her dead.” Frank said, voice icy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woah.” Jon said, putting down the french fry he was holding. “I know you hate her, Frank, but c’mon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank threw his plasticware down, abandoning his salad. “He almost didn't come back.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There was one time.” Frank began. “</span>
  <span>I mean, I had only known him a few weeks, but we were already pretty close. </span>
  <span>He went to hypno and he came back really fucked up, man. She kept him overnight. I don't know how, and I don't know why.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank ran a hand through his greasy hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He didn't remember why. He didn't remember staying overnight. He forgot we kissed.” Frank said, anger melting down into something sadder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus.” Jon swore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He forgot my birthday, my last name. But he remembered details about his house, details he had forgotten, which was good I guess.” Frank said, but he didn't look like he believed himself. “But he kept talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you worried, that he’s like,-” Brendon didn't want to push, but he also wanted to know what Frank was getting at. “Like, into her or something?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, no.” Frank laughed humorlessly. “I don't think Gerard’s ever liked a woman in his life.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, seems fair.” Jon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>She’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> very fond of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>however.” Frank said, face falling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does anyone else even go to hypno?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Technically she was requested by Gerard’s case workers. Like, his court ordered ones. I think Josh goes sometimes too though.” Frank said. “I tried going undercover once, it was… weird.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Weird how?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank shrugged. “Don't really want to get into it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough.” Brendon said, taking a bite of his salad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m gonna try to sleep a bit before my next group, actually.” Frank said, grabbing his tray. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright man, see ya later.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I’ll come find you later.” Frank said pointedly to Jon who nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon waved as Frank dumped his tray and left the lunchroom, his head hung. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he sucking your dick for drugs too?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brendon’s mind supplied, but he didn't say it. Not that he wasn't wondering, but that was rude, even for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, his facial express must’ve been loud enough because Jon snorted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My arrangement with Spencer is… unique.” Jon said. “I wouldn't let Frank pay like that anyways.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>he pay you?” Brendon asked. It was a bluff, he didn't know if Jon was giving him drugs or not, but it was one way to find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed and pressed his lips together. He seemed to be weighing his options. “Cigarettes. Cartons of them.” Jon said, voice just above a whisper. “My contact can get cash for them so it works out fine.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>contact</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Brendon hisses in a whisper. So Jon was an actual dealer. Of what, Brendon wasn't sure. Weed? Probably. Coke? Definitely, but what else?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To be fair, he didn't know much about why Jon was there, but being a drug dealer didn't seem like something Clover Fields could fix. Dr. D never really seemed to focus on him in group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And no one suspects a thing?” Brendon asked, realizing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded, glancing around the lunchroom uneasily. “And I’m telling </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because I trust you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't entirely sure how to respond. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?” It was clear he couldn't speak freely there, they needed to be alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded again. “I don't have another group for an hour or so after lunch. You can swing by my room if you want.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon said. “I gotta make a phone call on my way, but I will.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the far side of the courtyard, down the hall where Jon’s room was, there was a payphone. It didn't require any money, but it could be used to call pretty much anywhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a seat in the plastic chair underneath it and dialed his home phone number, not totally remembering Aubrey’s off the top of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” His mother greeted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey mom, it’s Brendon.”   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi sweetie, how are you? I meant to call but I got distracted with work.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was using her fake voice. The one she used when she didn’t really care about the answer of the question. Brendon sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I understand. I’m pretty good.” he said. “Is Aubrey around?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She's right here.” His mom said. “I'm on my way to a meeting so I can't stay and chat but I’m glad you’re having a good time! Bye sweetie, love you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes. She was so oblivious. Intentionally so, if Brendon had to guess. It was gross. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Bren!” Aubrey exclaimed. “I miss you so much, how do you like it there? Are the people nice?” she rushed. “Any cute boys?” she added in a whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep your voice down!” Brendon whisper-yelled into the receiver. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mom’s gone, don’t worry.” She reassured him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only one Brendon was out to in his family was Aubrey. Well, he suspected his mom knew, but she never directly asked him about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aubrey was the only one who didn't side with his mom when his dad left. The rest of his siblings were as brainwashed as his mother was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I miss you too.” Brendon said, actively avoiding her question about cute boys. Maybe he could talk to her about Ryan on Sunday. Aubrey wasn't necessarily a relationship expert, but she was older and maybe an outside point of view would be helpful.  “Are you doing anything Sunday by any chance?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Besides church, I am not!” she replied. “That’s when visiting hours are right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't help but smile. She really was a good sister. She was still with the church, but not in the all consuming way the rest of their family was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you be willing to do me a favor? I’m all out of cigarettes and-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How many packs?” She asked, cutting him off. “I don't have a lot of cash right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Brendon said. “I have some money stashed away under my bed, I wouldn't make you pay for that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” Aubrey said. “That's fine, I can do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Brendon said fervently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see ya Sunday, okay kid?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you Sunday, Aubrey. Thanks again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He was excited to see his sister, but he didn't want to unpack the conversation he had with his mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon barely knew why he was sent to Clover Fields and he was supposed to believe his mother did? That his mother noticed enough about him and his life to make that decision? Yeah fucking right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon made his way over to Jon’s room, knocking lightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come in.” Jon called. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon did just that, closing the door behind him and taking a seat on Pete’s bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon was sitting with his legs crossed on his bed, his flowy patterned pants almost blending in with his comforter. It kind of put Jon’s whole vibe into perspective for Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon imagined in Jon’s bedroom at home, he had tapestry hanging from every wall. He probably had those fancy incense burners that made it look like the smoke was waterfalling down the rocks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He imagined Jon having hanging plants, and his weed stored in by strain in color coded hand painted jars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you're a drug dealer.” Brendon said. It wasn't a question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dealer, distributor, whatever.” Jon said. He sat up a little straighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you sell, what?” Brendon started. “Weed? Coke for sure. And pills?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't exactly have like, an inventory.” Jon laughed. “I mean, I always have weed but that's mostly for personal use. I can get just about anything though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“More or less.” Jon shrugged. “For moral reasons I don't sell, like, meth. Or heroin, y’know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was good at least. But Brendon couldn't ignore the moral implications of selling Spencer coke, knowing that he had a problem and knowing that it would get him in trouble. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you sell to Frank?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon shrugged, having walled up slightly. It was strange to see. He was almost cocky about it, like he was proud to be a trustworthy dealer, not giving out his customers information. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What happened to trusting me?” Brendon tried. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I trust you with my own information. It's not my place to out my customers.” Jon said seriously, but not with hostility. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is Spencer the only one who doesn't pay in cigarettes?” Brendon asked instead. He was more interested in that anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, pretty much.” Jon said. “But supplying Spencer would be a loss for me no matter what. He’d need to be giving me straight cash for the shit he goes through.” Jon said, his walls lowering slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed. He wanted to ask how much Spencer went through but he knew Jon wouldn't answer that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why do you do it?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed. “There's a lot you don't know, Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you love him?” Brendon asked before his brain could stop him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon let out a cold laugh, his face falling again after a moment. His shoulders sagged. His walls were completely gone. “I’ll drop the bullshit, be straight with you, okay? But please don't make me regret it.” Jon said, eyes on the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have my word, Jon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon met his eyes for a moment, before darting toward the window. “No, I don't.” He said, looking back at Brendon, probably trying to gauge his reaction. “It’s not like that at all, we’re not like, together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not?” Brendon asked, genuinely surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon shook his head. “He’s my best friend. I love him that way. But I’m straight, man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon raised an eyebrow at Jon, making him laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know how it looks.” Jon said with a half smile. “We don't even kiss or anything. One of the first times, we tried kissing. I didn't really care, I mean, it was awkward but I wasn't like, super off put or anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spence stopped though. Said it was too weird.” Jon shrugged. He was quiet for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon could practically see Jon arguing with himself whether or not he should continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He doesn't have to pay me.” Jon said, sounding almost defeated. “If he needs to get me off to feel like I’m being properly compensated, that's fine. It’s not like I haven't tried to tell him that it's fine, he doesn't owe me anything. He feels too guilty when he comes down otherwise.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, oh. That was pretty heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So I let him do what he wants. And I just try to be a friend.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And that doesn't-” Brendon began, stopping to choose his words. “That doesn't affect you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon took his dab pen out of his pocket, taking a hit. “I don't stop to think about it too hard.” He said, tossing the pen to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon hypocritically took a hit and tossed it back. “And you’re not worried about him?” Brendon asked, deciding that was the best way to ask Jon if he felt guilty for actively aiding Spencer’s addiction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn't for a while.” Jon said, taking another hit. “A few weeks before you got here, I was going through a bit of a dry spell. I was having trouble getting anything for him. There were a couple days where he didn't have it at all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought he was losing his mind, man. Didn't know who he wanted dead first, me or himself.” Jon said, looking down. “Or Ryan.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon replied, quirking an eyebrow in a way that almost looked bitter to Brendon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does Ryan know you sell?” Brendon asked, forcing himself to ignore the implications of Jon’s body language. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ehh, maybe. Probably. I don't know.” Jon said. “He might suspect it, but the only people who actually know I sell are the ones buying. And you of course.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon desperately wanted to know what happened with Spencer and Ryan. He desperately hoped it would help him understand more about Ryan. Or Spencer, or just more in general. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really don't know what happened between them?” Brendon asked after a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon shook his head. “Spencer doesn't even really remember what happened with Ryan. If I had to guess…”  Jon stopped to think for a moment. “Ryan spent a lot of nights at Spencer’s house. I think he had stuff going on at home. Spencer is in love with misery, in a way. I wouldn't be surprised if he fell in love with Ryan too, but I don't know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. He wouldn't be surprised either. Ryan was endearing, and, and, and Brendon couldn't entertain that right now. Not while his head was foggy from the weed and the secondhand guilt he had from hearing Jon’s story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you here?” Brendon asked instead. “And not like, in a rehab place.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon laughed at that. “The first time I got caught for selling weed, I got lucky. I was freshly 18, selling shit I grew myself. I didn't have enough on me to get arrested, but I got my stash confiscated and the cops seized my plants, it was devastating.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were my babies!” Jon exclaimed. “Regardless. I got caught almost a year later with a few pounds on me. I spent a few weeks in jail but my parents found me this super good lawyer that had claimed that I turned to selling weed because I couldn't hold a job because of my ADHD and manic bipolar. I was moved to the Chicago branch of Clover Fields, then here when they downsized or whatever.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't seem very bipolar.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The weed helps with the manic part.” Jon said, taking another hit as if to prove his point. “I’m basically still serving time, it's just here instead of prison. I’ve made progress with the bipolar and anxiety and stuff but they can't even consider letting me out until next year.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh shit.” Brendon said. He didn't know they could do that. Maybe it was a parole condition or something. He didn't know about any of that stuff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So.” Jon said, taking another hit before tucking the pen back into his pocket. “Enough about me. What are you doing here?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stilled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s only fair.” Jon said, narrowing his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're not going to believe me if I say I don't really know, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Jon said. “You seem exceptionally self aware.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, I think.” Brendon said, though he wasn't sure he totally agreed. “Well, I was hospitalized when I was 16 for a suicide attempt.” Brendon began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought about showing Jon the scars to prove it, but decided against it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My mother is kind of, I don't know, insane?” Brendon said. “She was always controlling but it got so much after my dad left. She sent me here because when she called me down for dinner, I ran down and like, half passed out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jeez.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I was chaining smoking cigarettes out my bedroom window. Then running downstairs so she wouldn't catch me. It was just the nicotine rush, y’know when your vision goes black for a few when you have too much nicotine?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I wasn't aware that happened.” Jon said. “But go on.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She said that was ‘the last straw’ and that ‘I needed help’ and all that shit. Like yeah, I guess I was having a bad week but not enough to warrant this.” Brendon said, gesturing around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I thought you were gonna say you passed out because you had an eating disorder or something. But yeah, moms can be pretty rough sometimes.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, definitely don't have an eating disorder.” Brendon laughed. “I eat plenty.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon said. “I was gonna say, it didn't seem like you were starving yourself or anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed hard, trying to bite back the sting of Jon’s words. Of course he didn't look like he was starving himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His portions were out of control, like at lunch, he could barely see his plate under all the salad. And he was huge, he definitely didn't have an eating disorder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon genuinely couldn't fathom why his mother thought he did. He ate so much. He was out of control. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon laughed, though it was forced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was silent for a few awkward moments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pete’s probably gonna be back soon.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stood up quickly, taking a step away from Pete’s bed, making Jon laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s really not that scary.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, you’ve said that...” Brendon said. “I’ll let you know when I start to believe you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gee thanks.” Jon laughed. “Get out of here, I’ll see you at dinner if not sooner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right, dinner. Another meal Brendon would have to bullshit his way through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See you, man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon only went to anger group because he would drive himself crazy if he were alone with his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't just sit there and think about how disgusting he was or he’d end up on his knees with his head in the toilet. The salad was too far digested anyways, nothing would even come up. The thought only made Brendon feel worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group was extra small, Brendon noticed, pulling himself from his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Based on Jon’s story, it seemed like he was required to go to addiction group, but could also choose to go to others if he wanted. Brendon was required to go to every group, but he was beginning to notice that even if you weren't required, you could go to any group you wanted. Brendon wasn't sure if there were consequences for missing required groups though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer didn't show, and Brendon didn't blame him for not wanting to be near Dr. D so soon. He was probably still high anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank wasn't there either. He was probably with Jon like he said he would be. And Pete was there, making it all the more possible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler and Bob were there as well as Patrick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Dr. D said, getting settled. “Everyone get the bullshit out of their system this morning?” He said, looking over his smaller than average group. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see.” Bob muttered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Glad you’re awake, Bob.” Dr. D said, pulling out his yellow legal pad. “Let’s check in.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob rolled his eyes, but sat up a little straighter. “What do you wanna know D man?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I’ve been talking with your clinician. You've done a good job following your discharge conditions, and there haven't been any incidents in the past 30 days. I know this is Anger Group now, but since I didn't get to talk to you this morning, how have your urges been?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob shrugged. “I don't, like, have any physical urges anymore. Sometimes I still think about using, or want to, but I don't feel like I need to go out of my way to get high, yknow?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know it’ll pass, because it always does.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so glad to hear it, Bob.” Dr. D grinned. “You’ve made a lot of progress here. How would you feel about me giving your clinician a formal recommendation for your discharge?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob raised his eyebrows. “Really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Dr. D said. “We can talk about it more in private, but I’m so proud of how much you’ve improved. Would you be worried about heading home and getting reacquainted with your new life?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bob shrugged again. “Thanks, man. It’s gonna be weird, that's for sure. My girl left after I got arrested, y’know, so I’ll be going back to an empty apartment, but it’ll be good to be free again, that's for damn sure.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah, Bob!” Patrick exclaimed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Woo!” Pete cheered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we have some resources to help you when you leave as well. I’ll talk to Dr. Jackson about compiling that for you.” Dr. D said, making a note. “And after I talk to her, I’ll be able to give you a more solid timeframe for when we can get you out of here. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great man.” Bob grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Dr. D said. “I’ll be in touch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wrote something down quickly and looked up to Tyler. “Alright Tyler, how are you?” Dr. D asked. “Am I speaking with Tyler?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir!” Tyler replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are things going?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been working with Dr. Uma to learn about this new alter.” Tyler began. “Nico might come out, he knows more than I do because we think the new alter is a trauma holder.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do they have a name yet?” Dr. D asked, flipping to a new page on his pad, writing something down. “Just so I can keep my notes straight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler shook his head. “We don't even know what he looks like. He’s all blurry right now. We think he’s a he though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D wrote that down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nico says the new alter uses anger because it wants to be punished, but he won't tell me anything else.” Tyler said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Dr. D said. “This is probably a conversation I should be having with Nico, huh?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tyler nodded. He paused for a moment, eyes studying the carpet. “He certainly thinks so.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I able to talk to him?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm not alone, I don't think. He’s not in the mood to boot me to the inner world, and he won't talk about that stuff unless he’s 100% sure I won't hear about it.” Tyler said, looking up to Dr. D again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sounds good, Tyler. Have you or Nico ever been co conscious with the new alter?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know.” Tyler said. He scratched his head. “Nico is listening right now I think, but I don't know. He won't tell me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well if either of you ever are, I’d love to meet him.” Dr. D said. “I’m always in my office, but if it’s time sensitive, you can grab me whenever.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Tyler said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Dr. D said, flipping to a new page.  “Alright, Pete, how are you doing? Better than this morning?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete did seem to be in a better mood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually.” Tyler interrupted. “Can I be excused for a moment? I’m being requested at a meeting and the background noise is a little disorienting.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Dr. D said. “Try to stay somewhere somewhat public if you can though, just in case.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go to the cafeteria.” Tyler said, standing up. “Jenny doesn't mind if I hang out while they start dinner.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Dr. D said, watching Tyler head out the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay.” Pete said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about what happened with Frank this morning?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete sighed and glanced at Brendon, then back to Dr. D. “I don't know…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won't even be here in a week.” Bob said. “You don't have to worry about anything I hear.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Pete said. “I’m not worried about you.” He said, looking at Brendon. “I’m worried about the one that’s friends with him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you plan on like, physically harming him?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not currently.” Pete replied with a snarl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then there's nothing I need to tell him.” Brendon shrugged. “Don't talk about my personal shit and I won't talk about yours, y’know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick nodded, elbowing Pete in the ribs. “He’s right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete deflated ever so slightly. “Fine. What was the question?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about what happened with Frank this morning?” Dr. D asked again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can't even describe what it’s like.” Pete began warily. “Frank talks about him like he’s god’s gift to the fuckin’ earth.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gerard, you mean?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Pete said through clenched teeth, flinching. He took a deep breath. “If he knew what he fucking did. Then maybe we’d finally be even.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you know why that’s not your job, right Pete?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Pete exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not fuckin’ fair, and I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sick of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘well, life’s not fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘sometimes you have to make sacrifices’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Why does it have to be me? Haven't I suffered enough?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete was gripping the arms of the couch so hard his knuckles were white.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D sighed, probably debating how to approach the situation. Pete was right, though. Brendon didn't know the specifics but it did seem like a lot of pressure was put on Pete. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to be the bigger person constantly, even against the source of his main cause of pain. Brendon couldn't imagine what that was like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just because he’s so fucked that he gets to forget? As if I wouldn't switch places with him if I could. Forget it all happened. Forget he even existed.” Pete continued ruefully. His eyes were red and glossy but no tears fell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't mean that.” Patrick said quietly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why shouldn't I?” Pete snapped, but Patrick didn't flinch. Maybe he was used to it. “He gets to sleep at night, fall in love.” Pete began, voice rising. “Why am I the one being punished when he’s the one that fuckin’ </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete stood up and slammed his fist into the window frame with what looked like all his might. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, alright.” Dr. D said. “Let’s stop with this now. Take a seat please Pete.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete didn't move until Patrick grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s all take a deep breath.” Dr. D said, glancing around the group, practically begging them with his eyes to participate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon followed Dr. D as he inhaled slowly, held his breath, and let it out. Bob and Patrick followed as well, but Pete was too busy suppressing his tears to properly breathe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was on the verge of hyperventilating, going in between rough inhales, pausing, then taking a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group continued a few more cycles of breathing until Pete pulled it together enough to start breathing normally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes were red and swollen, the same color as his knuckles. He was cradling in his unhurt hand. He probably broke something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Dr. D asked, as if he were reading Brendon’s mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even for ice?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Pete said, very obviously not fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D just nodded, likely not wanting to get Pete worked up again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let's move on.” Dr. D said awkwardly. “Patrick, how have you been doing?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrick let out a breath as if he didn't know he was holding it.  “Doin’ alright Doc. I don't know, my anger is so situational I feel like I can't make any progress.” Patrick said easily, moving the attention off of Pete.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay, Patrick.” Dr. D said. “That's why we work on how to handle it, so it can be applied to future moments.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I don't know what works. I feel like- I’ve never stopped to examine my anger before. That’s not something I ever even considered until I got here. I don't know anything about it.” Patrick said frustratedly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure there will be plenty of time to do so. And that doesn't mean you can't work on techniques to handle it in the meantime.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” Patrick said. “Whatever, I’ll keep you updated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's all I ask.” Dr. D smiled. He flipped to a new page and took a few notes. He then flipped to another one. “Brendon, how are you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't sure how he felt honestly, was trying not to think about it. He had a lot going on. “I’m doing okay.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven't gotten a chance to really talk to you about anger yet.” Dr. D began. “Is that something you struggle with? I know Dr. Uma has you in every group.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, not that I know of.” Brendon said. It was mostly true. He figured he struggled with anger as much as anyone did. The only person he really got angry with was himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that's good!” Dr. D exclaimed. “Not at all?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shrugged. “I’m not like, angerless or anything. I think it's a normal amount. Like if my sisters use up all the hot water after I come home sore from a shift. Or my brothers leave their dirty laundry all over the place.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you have a lot of siblings, right?” Dr. D asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Four, yeah. Two brothers and two sisters.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow.” Dr. D said, taking notes. “It’s very reasonable to get frustrated when living with that many people. Is there anything you want to talk about specifically?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shook his head. “I’ll let you know if that changes though.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. D nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon skipped the smoke break and went straight to dinner. He saw a nurse taking a tray down his hall toward Ryan’s room. At least he was eating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon waited outside the cafeteria, not wanting to be the first one there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jon said, walking up to meet Brendon, Spencer only a few steps behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys.” Brendon said, following them as they entered the lunch room and up to the line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dinner was burgers but Brendon felt queasy. It had been a rough day. Not for him specifically, but rough to be around in general. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Watching Pete break down was unideal. While he still didn't know the details, it was pretty clear he had cared about Mikey a lot. It was also interesting how he waited to be mostly alone to talk about it. No wonder the other guys hadn't heard anything about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a veggie burger but no bun, just a few pieces of lettuce. He imagined Jon knew the details of Pete’s past. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Brendon learned anything about Jon recently though, it was that he took pride in keeping his friends' secrets. Or some of them, maybe. Brendon wondered if that was the trade off. He didn't believe Jon didn't feel guilty about giving Spencer drugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even Frank insinuated that Ryan could've been freaking out because Jon got him stoned. But Jon wasn't a bad guy. He couldn't be, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't know how Jon </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn't </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel guilty. If Brendon was in his position, he didn't know how he would sleep at night. It wouldn't be that hard to twist the narrative, tell himself he was just helping a friend, but how long could that go on? And how long would it be until he thought his ‘friend’ only cared about the drugs?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't take anything else besides a cup of water before following Spencer and Jon to their table. They were talking about some show Brendon had never heard of. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But if Jon wasn't in love with Spencer, what was stopping him from denying Spencer the coke? Well, Brendon wasn't entirely sure that was sound logic, but still. It would be different, Brendon supposed, if Jon was blinded by love or whatever, but he wasn't. Or he </span>
  <em>
    <span>said </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wasn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't think Jon was lying to him, but he felt like both Jon and Spencer were hiding something. And he didn't know what it was, how it related to him, or why it seemed to involve Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The last thing Brendon needed was more to think about and analyze. He knew he was being judgemental toward Jon, but he didn't know what else to think. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a small forkful of his veggie burger and washed it down with a large gulp of water. He had no intention of keeping his dinner down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I heard we’re getting a new admission sometime tonight or tomorrow.” Spencer said, chomping down on a carrot stick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Spencer said. “I think they said he’s around Dallon’s age.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh oh.” Jon said. “You're not gonna regret moving to Spencer’s room if they stick him with Dallon.” He said to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon grimaced, already nauseated enough. “And how likely is that?” He asked, taking another bite of burger, followed by a few bites of lettuce. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That they’ll put him with Dallon?” Spencer asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, that they’ll fuck.” Brendon replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, almost 100%.” Jon said. “I’m fairly certain Dallon’s fucked everyone he’s had as a roommate. I don't know why else they’d keep him alone.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s interesting to me that he isn't like, with anybody, y’know?” Brendon said. “Feels like a lot of you guys are all paired up. You the only straight one here, Jon?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon laughed, but Spencer’s gaze fell, just for a moment before he recovered it, but Brendon noticed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bob’s definitely straight.” Jon said around a mouthful of burger. “Pete’s straight below the belt, whatever the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>means.”    </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it means he doesn't fuck dudes.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think he means he’s a coward.” Jon replied with a wink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon forced himself to finish a piece of lettuce and another bite of burger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about you, Spencer?” Jon asked. “Are you one of the Straights?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s brows came together. That seemed like something you’d know about the guy blowing you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know damn well I couldn't care less.” Spencer said, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “What about you, Brendon.” He asked, smoothly shifting the conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I thought we discovered I was a raging homosexual when I played Queen the other day.” Brendon laughed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spencer</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jon said, narrowing his eyes and laughing. “Stop trying to change the subject.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer rolled his eyes. “And what subject is that? My sexuality, Jon? You won't take my answer at face value?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nope. Because I think you’re bullshitting me.” Jon said, and Brendon suddenly felt like he shouldn't be involved in the conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer squinted at him. “Historically I’ve dated women, if that's the information you’re looking for.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re killin’ me Spence.” Jon groaned but couldn't help smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the first guy I’ve been with.” Spencer said, voice low. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But the first you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Brendon prompted. His voice was light and teasing but it didn't translate that way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon fell silent and Spencer turned to scowl at Brendon. “No, he’s not, thanks for asking.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone seemed to still for a second. What did that mean? Did Spencer mean to say that? It seemed like Spencer had boxed himself in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon seemed confused, but Jon appeared to be even more so. Spencer just dramatically shut his mouth, seeming to realize his mistake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, so he closed it again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, uh.” Brendon said, coming to the rescue. He didn't want to witness whatever awkwardness ensued after that.  “Do you think Gerard came back from hypno yet?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if on command, Frank came running into the lunch room, huge grin on his face, with Gerard in tow. “Guys! Guys! Guess who’s back!” Frank exclaimed, throwing himself into one of the open plastic chairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna guess it's Gerard.” Jon said as Gerard took a seat next to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You would be correct.” Gerard smiled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Frank exclaimed. “You don't even know how worried I was! But it's fine, because he’s back! Wow!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “You doing okay, Frank?” Brendon asked. He was exceptionally hyper, like he switched personalities with Gerard, who was acting a lot more calm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m great!” Frank said through his smile. “My Gerard is back! And I didn't even have to wait all night.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard smiled shyly. “I’d wait all night for you, Fr- uh, Frankie.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank faltered for a moment, but his smile stayed bright. “And I, for you my love.” He mused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ew.” Spencer laughed. “No true love at the dinner table, thanks.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry mom.” Frank grumbled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon couldn't help but notice the way Frank’s words slurred at the edges, barely noticeable. He wasn't sure he heard it at first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You guys gonna grab dinner?” Brendon asked, wanting to double check anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mm, probably. They got veggie burgers tonight! Love those guys.” Frank said, and yeah, definitely slurring. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What did Jon give him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank got up with Gerard close behind him to grab dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s slurring.” Brendon decided to point out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s being sloppy.” Spencer said, glancing at Jon who looked back at him uneasily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be fine.” Jon said with a shrug, though he looked unconvinced. “He might’ve gone a little hard since he was so anxious about Gerard but the food will help.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope so.” Spencer muttered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't think I've ever seen Gerard this subdued.” Brendon said, taking another forkful of veggie burger, washing it down with a few large gulps of water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that I don't know about.” Jon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe the hypnotherapy makes him sleepy.” Spencer suggested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe Lindz wears him out.” Jon said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don't really think-” Brendon started, but shut his mouth as Gerard and Frank rejoined them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don't.” Jon finished. “But you never know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So.” Frank said, sliding into his seat. “I hear we’re getting a new kid.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And they might just put him with Dallon.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dallon?” Gerard asked, confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The sex man.” Jon supplied. That seemed to do it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Gerard exclaimed. “I know him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon watched Frank for a reaction, but none came. He couldn't be sure if Gerard was at a normal level of forgetful, or if something was off. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you doing, Gerard?” Brendon asked. “Frank was a wreck while you were gone.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was s’not.” Frank grumbled, mouthful of veggie burger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m good, I think.” Gerard said, brows coming together. He stopped to think for a moment, as if he were trying to make sure. “She never wants me to come back, but I think I got a lot done.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frank stopped mid chew to eye Gerard carefully. “She what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” Gerard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He seemed very spaced out, as if he was only woken up from hypnosis recently. Brendon didn't think he was as spaced out as he was when they talked in the garden that one time, while he was actually still under. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know, I didn't hear you all the way.” Frank said, swallowing. “You said something about her.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About Lindz?” Gerard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer and Jon were watching the conversation just as intently as Brendon was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank said, narrowing his eyes. “About that </span>
  <em>
    <span>witch</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on Frankie!” Gerard exclaimed gleefully. “She’s not a witch! In fact, I think you would like her a lot.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck makes you think that?” Frank asked. His tone was harsh and Frank-like, but Gerard didn't seem bothered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Gerard began, sitting back and tilting his head dramatically. “You like a lot of the same music, and the same movies-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do your hypnotherapy sessions have to do with music and movies?” Jon asked with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard turned to Jon like he was just realizing he was there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Frank said. “What the fuck do movies have to do with anything?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good going.” Spencer muttered to Jon who rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well she said you have the same favorite movie,</span>
  <em>
    <span> Night of the Lepus</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Gerard said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, bullshit.” Frank said, narrowing his eyes. “That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>no one's</span>
  </em>
  <span> favorite movie. It’s got like, an 8% on Rotten Tomatoes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Night of the what?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lepus. Big rabbits.” Frank replied easily, though did nothing to answer Jon’s question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s yours.” Gerard said. “Isn't it?” He paused, eyes unfocusing for a moment, questioning himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Gerard, sorry.” Frank said. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to- shit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gerard’s brows came together and he ran a hand through his messy red hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s top two, remember.” Frank asked, putting a hand on Gerard’s arm. “Right after </span>
  <em>
    <span>Suspiria</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Gerard said, blinking a few times. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Suspiria</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Spencer asked. “1977 right? That's a good movie.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right?” Frank asked. “It’s beautiful.” He patted Gerard’s arm a couple times before removing his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I could go on for hours about the psychology of color in that movie.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And the soundtrack?” Frank said, eyes rolling back dramatically. “Absolutely next fuckin’ level. Insanity.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> ~*~ </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of dinner was spent discussing different movie soundtracks. Unfortunately for Brendon, a lot of the movies mentioned were forbidden by his mother at a young age. Perks of growing up religious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that he necessarily followed that rule, but it was a lot easier to get a hold of low budget B Rated films that he could watch on his ancient dvd player. A dvd player that he originally got to watch religious movies, or like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Veggie Tales</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't interested in conversation anyways. He was only interested in getting his burger down as fast as he could so he could get back to his room before Spencer did. Brendon had no intention of keeping his dinner down longer than he had to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waited until dinner was almost over to slip away. He figured that wouldn't look too suspicious. To be fair, he did finish everything he took. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon shut the door to his room carefully, just to be safe. He tossed his hoodie onto his bed, along with his long sleeve, and entered the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bathroom didn't have a lock, but it had one of those sliders to tell whoever on the outside that it was occupied, so Brendon flipped that on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sight of himself in just a t-shirt was almost enough to make him vomit on his own. The way his sleeves cut into the fat on his arms. The way his arms jiggled as he turned off the light. He didn't want to see himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't want to see the before or after, or anything in between. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon dropped down to his knees in front of the toilet and shoved his fingers down his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had gotten better about being quiet, but it had been a few days and he didn't muffle the coughing and gagging like he intended to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was fine though, he convinced himself. It didn't take long to empty himself completely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sat back on his heels, then fell back against the wall, dizzier than expected. He pressed his sweaty cheek against the cool tiles and exhaled shakily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he felt mildly better. Empty was better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon happily would've stayed on the floor, but his mouth tasted like shit and he could practically feel his teeth eroding from the stomach acid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He braced the wall as he pulled himself up, having to lean against it for a moment as his vision went dark. The light coming from under the door was enough for him to be able to find his toothbrush and paste. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clover Fields even allowed him a little bottle of hospital grade alcohol free mouthwash. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon brushed his teeth twice just to be safe, before stepping out of the bathroom. He practically jumped out of his skin when he found Spencer standing just outside the door, leaning against the opposite wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer raised one brow at Brendon as he pulled the door shut behind him. Brendon couldn't even imagine how guilty he looked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-” Brendon said. “What's up?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer gave him a quick once over and shit, he was in just a t-shirt. Brendon moved carefully to his bed, eyes on Spencer the whole time as he pulled his sweatshirt back on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Spencer asked, though it sounded more like an answer than a question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, what?” Brendon asked, still knowing damn well he looked like a deer in the headlights. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you’re here?” He asked, still not moving, adding to Brendon’s uneasiness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” Brendon asked. That had nothing to do with why he was there. His mom didn't know about that. He was almost 100% sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded to himself, as if Brendon responded somehow. “They know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon deflated. He wasn't getting out of the conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Brendon said. “But if they find out, I’ll know who talked.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said you wouldn't rat on me for my shit.” Spencer shrugged. “I have no reason to betray you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, though he wasn't totally convinced. “That’s it?” Brendon asked. “You don't want anything from me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Spencer laughed, finally moving to go sit on his bed. “I actually feel better now that we’re even.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't so sure. People knew Spencer was getting high. Granted, they didn't know how, but still. No one knew about Brendon and he’d be fucked if they found out. But if Spencer thought that was even, more power to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna be up much longer?” Brendon asked, kicking off his sandals and getting into bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know it.” Spencer said. “I’m gonna go hang with Jon for a bit though, so I won't bother you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Brendon said, pulling the covers up to his chin. He was exhausted. “Get the light on the way out for me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer did just that, shutting the door behind him and leaving Brendon alone with his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't alone with them for very long though, because Brendon was asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon wasn't sure how long he slept for before he was woken by a knock at the door. He aggressively didn't want to deal with it. Luckily, it seemed like he didn't have to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was asleep long enough for Spencer to be back in bed. Brendon didn't think he was sleeping though, because he got out of bed quickly, almost like he was expecting it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon heard the door open quietly, and Jon’s voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not now.” He said to Spencer. “My room’s getting searched.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He didn't care that he was being nosy. Something in Jon’s voice sounded extra serious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Spencer asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon looked at him, then Brendon, making Spencer turn to realize Brendon was now part of the conversation. “Pete, uh-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like fuck I will!” Pete yelled from the hallway, almost on command. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer craned his neck, and stepped into the hall to get a better view of the commotion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon got up too, following Spencer to the end of the hall so they could look across the front desk area, over toward Jon’s room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guys-” Jon said, voice strained in a way Brendon hadn't heard before. They both ignored him. Pete’s back was to them, but Brendon could sense there was something seriously wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you need to be escorted to the infirmary or will you just go?” A nurse asked, stopping Jon from continuing his sentence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete hesitated. “I’m fine. I’ll go.” He turned in their direction and Brendon couldn't help but gasp out loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete’s white t-shirt was totally soaked through with blood. He had large gashes cut across his collarbones and one long cut across his throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had seen enough horror movies to know Pete would be dead already if he cut an artery, but the wounds were still so deep, he didn't know how he missed one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fuck.” Spencer whispered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I-” Jon began. “Wanted to warn you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stood totally silent, he had nothing to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete walked past them, making brief eye contact with Brendon. His eyes were dark and bloodshot, and so, so, empty. “The fuck are you looking at.” He asked roughly, though it came out as a statement. There was no power behind the words, he sounded more exhausted than angry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Brendon muttered, meaning it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can stare as long as you want when you find me hanging from that goddamn tree.” Pete said, and continued down the hall, not waiting for a reply. Probably not wanting one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit.” Brendon said, or sighed, as Pete left earshot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I just hide out in your room now?” Jon asked, already heading towards it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Spencer said, following him. “Yeah.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone in that much pain.” Brendon said when they got back to the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They flicked on the light on the way in, the darkness being too loud after what they just saw. Spencer and Jon sat on Spencer’s bed while Brendon sat on his own, legs crossed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wonder if they're gonna send him to Sunrise.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sunrise?” Jon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a local hospital.” Spencer said. “I mean, that was an attempt, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For him?” Jon asked. “Not necessarily.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, he also threatened to hang himself.” Brendon added. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jon said with a frown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s his deal anyways?” Spencer asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not really for me to say.</span>
  <span>”  Jon started, giving Spencer a pointed look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Brendon asked Jon, who was looking down at his hands again. “I mean, did you like, wake up to that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon swallowed before speaking. “I wasn't asleep.” He said. “And it’s not the first time he’d done something like that. He was in the bathroom a little too long and I had a bad feeling. When he finally opened the door I thought I was tripping out or something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon waited for him to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I've seen some shit man, but nothing like that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon pretended to not notice the way Spencer brushed his thumb over the back of Jon’s knuckles, comforting him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that's a lot.” Brendon said.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded and took a deep breath. He first pulled his hand away from Spencer, then stood up. “I should be going back probably. I’ll tell whoever’s at the desk what Pete said to you on his way to the infirmary.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon and Spencer nodded robotically, as Jon left the room without another word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was safe to say Brendon had trouble getting to sleep. Some time a few hours after shutting the lights off again, Spencer snuck out, presumably to Jon’s room. He didn't blame him. He wouldn't want to be alone if he were Jon either. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Actually, he just didn't want to be alone. Brendon couldn't help but sigh at that. Against his better judgement, he pressed his ear to the wall, hoping to hear anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn't even hear Ryan breathing. Brendon sighed and sat up. One cigarette left. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took the pack, slipped on his sandals, and made his way out into the courtyard. The halls of Clover Fields were dark, aside from the red glow of the exit signs and dim light coming from the front desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The courtyard was exceptionally dark, and felt more closed in than normal. Maybe it was because he wasn't alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan stood in the middle of the yard, staring straight up into the sky, a few feet from the (thankfully) bodiless tree. Brendon’s heart leapt in his chest. Should he say anything? He didn't know what he could say that wouldn't start shit, or trigger the hell out of Ryan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” Ryan said without turning around.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice startled Brendon. He didn't know how Ryan knew he was there, he didn't even know if Ryan knew it was him. Brendon lit his cigarette as an excuse to take a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Talking to me again?” Brendon said, and immediately cringed. So much for not saying anything potentially argumentative.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan turned to look at him, or look through him rather. At least he was looking through Brendon how he originally did, and not like he did at dinner last night. Hurt flashed across Ryan’s face, making Brendon feel even more guilty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Brendon said. He realized Ryan was wearing the Led Zeppelin shirt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>Led Zeppelin shirt. Brendon wore that shirt to bed for months straight, he was very familiar with it, but that didn't stop him from wanting to reach out and touch it anyways. Maybe he just wanted to touch Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Ryan began, sitting down against the tree trunk. “I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I sit?” Brendon asked, although he probably shouldn't have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan held his hands out and looked at them. He flipped them over once, then again, before putting them down and looking back at Brendon. “This isn't real.” He said calmly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn't?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan shook his head. “You can sit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon decided to sit about a foot or two in front of Ryan instead of beside him. He wanted to be able to see his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn't.” Ryan said. “Don't think you are either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon put out his cigarette gently and slid it back into the pack. “If I’m not real, then how did we play music with Jon and Spencer? They're real, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan seemed to ponder that, eyes studying Brendon’s face carefully. His gaze was heavy and Brendon could feel his cheeks heating up from the attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan had a point though. It was the middle of the night, out in the chilly Vegas air, stars over their heads. It was dark, but the exit signs illuminated Ryan’s face in an eerie red that was off putting. It made him look unreal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't know.” He said finally. “Sometimes I don't know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, his response reminding him of the lyrics he put together for ‘Round Here’. It made his chest ache. No wonder Ryan was so spaced out when he sang that part. He was practically describing him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon decided to scooch next to Ryan instead. Looking at him head on was making Brendon dizzy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m real. Jon and Spence are too. We all are.” Brendon said, watching Ryan closely. If Ryan was going to snap at him, cuss him out, and excommunicate him completely, so be it. He just better get it over with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan took a deep breath and nodded as if he were trying to convince himself. “I’m sorry for freaking out on you last night. I didn't mean to, it just got to be too much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was quiet for a moment. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. “Was it something I did?” Brendon asked. “Just so I can, y’know, never do it again?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan smiled sadly. “You haven't done anything wrong, Brendon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You keep saying that.” Brendon began. “But I don't understand.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan took a deep breath and wove a hand into his hair, tugging hard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought we were getting close, y’know?” Brendon continued on dumbly, the lack of realism he was feeling destroyed his filter.  “I don't mind being there for you, Ryan, like I was that one night. Or after group. Or anytime.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn't that the problem?” Ryan asked quietly, almost to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're not going to get me hurt.” Brendon said, biting his tongue. That was riskier than he intended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan took the hand from his hair and smoothed his pants down, gripping his knees tightly. “I hope not.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon waited for him to continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m tired. And I’m tired of pretending you don't exist when you’re just a wall away.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “We missed you at band.” Brendon said, because it was safe, and on topic, and a lot better than just saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>missed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan smiled at that. “You guys sounded so good with Gerard and Frank.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I like how you sound.” Brendon said, on a roll. If he didn't end up regretting his words in the moment, he was sure they’d come to bite him in the ass eventually. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Ryan half laughed, as if he didn't believe him. As if he didn't take the compliment seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was dead serious however. He could feel the blush on his cheeks, his ears were going warm as well but he didn't care. “You say that like you don't remember catching me staring at you multiple times that practice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan bit at the inside of his lip, hardly noticeable if it weren't for the shift of his mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your song’s been stuck in my head.” Brendon said, and oh god he desperately needed to stop talking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The dangerous blues one?” Ryan asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. Also whatever Ryan was singing in the middle of the night last night, but Brendon decided it might not be the best idea to bring that up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Ryan said politely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment, making Brendon shift. There was so much he wanted to say, and ask, but he didn't want to ruin it. For once, he wanted to end a conversation with Ryan without him running. There was one answer that he needed however. He was going to drive himself crazy if he didn't know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it too hard to be around me? Should I just leave you alone?” He asked so quietly, he wasn't sure if Ryan heard at first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan looked down at his hands. “I am far too selfish to ask you to do that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You said that last night too.” Brendon said. “What if you don't have to ask?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan moved ever so slowly, robotically even, giving Brendon plenty of time to pull away if he wanted. He first grabbed Brendon’s sleeve, then carefully slipped his hand down into Brendon’s, and held on tight enough to hurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath before speaking. “I need you to listen to me, please.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, holding on to Ryan’s hand just as tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do what's best for you, please.” Ryan began, bordering on begging. “Because, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span>- If it were up to me Brendon- You don't know how bad </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want</span>
  </em>
  <span>-” He took another breath and clenched his eyes shut. Brendon waited as he composed himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Ryan opened his eyes again, a tear slipping down his cheek in the process. He wiped it away quickly with his free hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon hesitantly ran his thumb along Ryan’s. When Ryan didn't flinch, he did it again. “What do you want?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan stilled. “It doesn't matter.” He replied, eyes glazed over again. He was staring off towards their rooms, eyes unfocused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you. I can't get close, he won't let me.” Ryan said, his voice low. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because you’ll hurt me? Get me killed?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan went still, and turned to face him better. For the first time in days, he made steady eye contact with Brendon. “You’re a test.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s brows came together. “A test?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The last time I cared about someone, Brendon, they died. Because of me. That's not an exaggeration, I mean it. He’ll kill you too. To punish me.” Ryan said forcefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And oh. Yeah, Brendon could see how that would be a problem. He wasn't sure what Ryan meant for sure, though. Did someone really die because of him? Or was Ryan just putting that pressure on himself.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ryan was visibly upset but he seemed less clouded, like the kid Brendon met on his first day. His chest ached at the thought. So much had changed since then and it hadn't even been a week. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No wonder he didn't want to get close to anyone. If he was convinced that was the punishment for it. He didn't think the voice was controlling Ryan, but it was doing something to mess with him and his judgement. Make him think Brendon wasn't real. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe if he stuck around long enough Ryan would start to realize he wasn't going anywhere, and he wasn't going to die.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you know for sure?” Brendon asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to be selfish.” Ryan said, ignoring him. “Even if it hurts me, even if it gets you killed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan-.” Brendon started. He couldn't let Ryan go down that road, or he was going to end up freaking out and hurting himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan dropped Brendon’s hand and wove his own into his hair, pulling hard. He hissed, eyes clenched shut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ryan, look at me.” Brendon said, taking Ryan’s hands and untangling them from his hair. He was careful to make sure he didn't pull too hard, or try to force Ryan to stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan’s eyes snapped open and he was fully looking through Brendon again. He dropped Brendon’s hands and braced his thighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of that is happening right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet.” Ryan said, voice deadpan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Worry about it if it happens, Ry. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you keep entertaining this.” Brendon said, hoping his wording wasn't too harsh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon took a deep breath, happy to see Ryan mimic him. Ryan exhaled with him, the tension leaving his shoulders as he leaned back against the tree again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m losing my mind.” Ryan said quietly, though he sounded more like himself again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s why we’re here.” Brendon said, leaning back as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded numbly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment before Brendon decided to speak again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just wanna play music and hang out, y’know?” He said, glancing in Ryan’s direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon would be lying if he said he wasn't exhausted from the emotional whiplash he was just put through, but he meant it. He didn't want to make whatever Ryan was going through worse, but it didn't have to be that deep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon was stupid for thinking it could get deep anyways. He realized at that moment something he had known all along: he’d rather have any quantity of Ryan that he could. It was much better than none at all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I can manage that.” Ryan said. His tone wasn't totally convincing, but Brendon forced himself not to read too much into it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be okay tonight?” Brendon asked seriously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded. “Are you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He probably wouldn't get much sleep, but he’d survive. “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryan nodded again. He reached over and squeezed Brendon’s hand one more time before getting up. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, watching him as he left. He stuck what was left of his cigarette back between his teeth, lighting it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Brendon?” Ryan asked, red light bouncing off the door he was holding open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon pulled the cigarette from his mouth, but Ryan didn't wait around for him to reply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took a long drag, relishing in the way his throat burned. What do you do when your crush doesn't think you're real? Brendon asked himself. He didn't have the energy to pretend it wasn’t a crush. He knew he was doomed, there was no need to hide it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon had all the odds stacked against him. Not only was he disgusting, and getting worse everyday, he also had to basically fight Ryan’s brain. And even if he did manage to convince Ryan that he wasn't going to be punished for interacting with him, fat chance he’d convince Ryan he was worth caring about. Pun intended. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took another long drag. If he weren't so hell bent on finishing his smoke, he would've stubbed it into his arm already. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Brendon swore aloud, unable to stop a few stray tears from falling. He was so fucked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time Brendon got back to his room, he was surprised to find Spencer there. He was laying like he was that morning, flat on his back, eyes to the ceiling. His jaw was set and he had his hands folded neatly on his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can't sleep?” Brendon asked, shutting the door and getting back into his own bed. He kept the lights off, it was better that way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer scoffed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you still high?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never seen me sober.” Spencer said simply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really.” Spencer said, taking a deep breath. “In that first group we had together I was pretty far down, but still not sober.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't know how to reply, so he didn't. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I’m not in love with Jon.” Spencer said after a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could've fooled Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s… a long story.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have all night, don't we?” Brendon asked, much too tired to be delicate in his wording. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m in love with the high, but I think that's pretty obvious.” Spencer said. “Keeps me busy, y’know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keeps me from thinking about the shit I said to him.” Spencer said grimly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To Jon?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To Ryan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed. “Bad stuff?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer grimaced. His head tilted from one side to the other, thinking carefully. It reminded Brendon of scales. Like he was balancing them in his head. Or maybe he was weighing his conscience against a feather. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could say that.” Spencer said. “But it was the truth. There's something to be said about that. Or so I keep telling myself.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He said you would blackout.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Most of the time.” Spencer said. “But not enough to forget everything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer seemed to want to go into detail, but he was dancing around the subject. Brendon didn't know if he should prompt him, or just stay silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never told anyone.” Spencer said. That answered Brendon’s question. No wonder he was hesitant. “The shit I said to him.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not even Jon?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer shook his head. “That would mean saying it out loud. And I-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer clenched his eyes shut and let out a sound of frustration. Brendon was also pretty sure he could hear Spencer’s teeth grind together in the darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was so pathetic.” Spencer whispered after a moment. “Still am.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't say anything. He’s been on that train of thought before, and he knew for himself, hearing someone say they were sorry would only make it worse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>myself say it outloud, I don't think I could stomach it.” Spencer said, face all twisted up in a pained expression. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got anything to lose?” Brendon asked with a shrug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer paused for a moment. “Not a thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon laid back in his bed and got as comfortable as he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There was one summer that he stayed over my house almost every night.” Spencer began. “He didn't need to as much during the school year, y’know? That got him out of the house enough, but once summer came, he was trapped.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon folded his hands across his chest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He…” Spencer began, but stopped short to swallow hard. “He didn't have the thing with the voice yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But his thoughts were harsh enough on their own. So we uh, would keep his mind busy with other things, if you know what I mean.” Spencer said, glancing uneasily at Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they started sleeping together. “When?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The summer before junior year.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, keeping his expression neutral. He knew he was going to learn something about Ryan tonight, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that. Regardless, he let Spencer continue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He wasn't interested in a relationship or anything. I don't blame him, he wasn't in a good enough emotional place for it.” Spencer began. “So anytime he didn't want to deal with his thoughts, he’d come over, and we’d- yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon’s brows came together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m making it sound like I didn't want to, but I, yeah.” Spencer said, eyes back on the ceiling. “Well maybe I didn't want to, because I knew my dumb ass would start to feel something, but I couldn't say no to him and I didn't want to either.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So like I was saying.” Spencer began. “It was getting to be every day that summer. I loved him. He didn't notice, I wouldn't let him. I started to drink before he’d come over, or with him while he was over. Anything to keep me from crying when he’d get up and leave.” Spencer grimaced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But that stopped working pretty quickly.” Spencer said. “There was this guy I knew from shows that always had some coke on him, so I- I got in touch with him. Started getting high before I saw Ryan instead.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon stayed quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then we’d drink. And I think I blacked out for a full week with him. Maybe two. How the fuck would I know?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on bitter. “But one day, towards the end of one of those weeks, I sobered up in the middle of just- crying hysterically. I asked him what was going on. Maybe he thought I was still blacked out. He told me I was crying about how he didn't love me again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don't know how many times I did that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did he keep coming back? Why didn't he stop it?” Brendon asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer shook his head and shrugged. “I wouldn't let him, for one. He didn't have anyone else but me. I was his escape.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon nodded, not totally understanding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look- I’m not- he didn't do anything wrong.” Spencer said. “I think- I think he stopped initiating the sex towards the end, and it was me that was starting it. The second time I sobered up enough to realize we were together, we were in bed. I asked him what happened and he said nothing happened. I tried to start something and he said no and I almost- I almost didn't stop.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn't ask how he got me to.” Spencer said quietly. “I don't know anything about what I did while blacked out. I don't know if I ever-” Spencer shook his head, ridding himself of the thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The whole situation was fucked. Our friendship was.” He said. “He stopped coming over, but I kept getting high.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d blackout for days straight and wake up at some guy's house, 50 miles from home.” Spencer shrugged. “Hitch hike back, then do it again a few days later. I did that for a few months I think. At least until school started back up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometime in like, mid October, I mixed some drugs I shouldn’t have and OD’d.” Spencer said. He uneasily rubbed the back of his neck. “If my mom didn't find me I’d probably be dead. I was sent to Sunrise, then rehab, then here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon let out a deep breath. “I had no idea-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He refuses to talk to me about it.” Spencer said, cutting him off. Probably not wanting the pity. “I only know bits and pieces about what happened to him after I went away. But he went through some rough shit.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That must’ve been the two years of testing or whatever Ryan had talked about. Maybe some of it overlapped. It didn't seem like Spencer would've remembered anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So when I say I don't know, I really don't.” Spencer said. He exhaled heavily. It landed like punctuation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for pushing it.” Brendon said. He didn't know Spencer’s memory was so restricted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded. “I hear you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon swallowed in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But we’re not even anymore.” Spencer said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to know?” Brendon sighed. The way information was traded like currency was exhausting to Brendon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're here for what? Bulimia?” Spencer asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon rolled his eyes. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, I don't know, maybe because you skipped like four meals and got caught puking up your dinner?” Spencer asked, words harsher than Brendon expected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hit Brendon like a slap to the face. He would've reacted more if he weren't so numbed out and tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Spencer said, softening. “I didn't mean to- sorry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Brendon lied. “My mom didn't tell me why she sent me here. I didn't think she noticed anything I did.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Brendon didn't attend many family meals either. His appetite was a mess anyways but to sit around the table while his family played pretend, bowing their heads to pray. Brendon wanted no part of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He loved his brothers and sisters, but when their mom would go around the table, asking them what they did that day, how school was going, she’d always give Brendon this pointed look. Like if it was so easy for them, why couldn't he do it? Why did Brendon always fail? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he stopped going to meals, which caused his mother to corner him in the kitchen one night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is my cooking not even good enough for you now?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>She had asked, hands on her hips. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You're so ungrateful, just like your father. All you boys cared about were the mistakes. You never cared about all the good I’ve done for you. All the sacrifices I’ve made for you, and for </span>
  </em>
  <span>you </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was grounded for not eating, which only made him want to do it more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She's a control freak.” Brendon said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don't have to talk about it.” Spencer offered. “I had people asking me if I was anorexic for months. I lost like, 80 pounds to the coke and it destroys my appetite. It’s really fuckin’ annoying when people think they know what’s wrong with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's for damn sure.” Brendon said. “I don't even know what's wrong with me. Well-” Brendon had a whole list of what was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with him, but that wasn't what Spencer was referring to. “I did want to die for a while.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s almost like a right of passage in this hellhole.” Spencer commented. “How long have you been in Vegas?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Little over two years.” Brendon said. “It was after we moved here that I, yeah, tried to kill myself.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear.” Spencer began. “The first time my friends and I went to the strip, it aged me like, five years. Sin City, right?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon said. “My mom didn't allow us to go into the city.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you let that stop you?” Spencer asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It didn't stop my sisters.” Brendon said. “My brothers didn't really care too much. They were happy enough playing poker in the backyard. I heard stories, but- I don't know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay.” Spencer laughed. “I wouldn't really recommend it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brendon sighed. “I might end up falling in love and addicted to drugs or something.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah.” Spencer said wryly. “You wouldn't want to end up like one of those losers.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>jonwalkerthebassplayer.tumblr.com for fic updates. turn notifs on if you want, i only use tumblr for fics at this point.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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